


Light of My Life

by QueenEchidna



Series: Believe it or not Mercenaries have Feelings Too [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood, M/M, cooked crab, establishing an existing relationship, happy but cliche ending, mute!Pyro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 22:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenEchidna/pseuds/QueenEchidna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Vous êtes la lumière de ma vie."</p><p> </p><p>  <i>"Each and every moment, like the ending of a long movie you truly don’t want to end; but once the credits start rolling you don’t exactly regret the time you spent in the cinema and you tell yourself just what a wonderful film it was."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Light of My Life

**Author's Note:**

> "Light of My Life" has been a work-in-progress since late September 2012. And after a couple months of work and multiple edits I am finally bringing it to you. And around my third edit I realized: in hind-sight I wish I hadn't written this, and I realized I absolutely hate the entire thing. But cooked-crab is a ship I very much appreciate, so I'm throwing caution to the wind here.
> 
> I hope you enjoy, constructive criticism is welcomed and greatly appreciated; and I apologize in advanced for my undesirable writing style. Thanks and have a good read. :)

_.Prologue._.  
\----+----

No one has heard Pyro talk, ever. The closest thing to speech anyone has ever heard out of him has been muffled noises and the occasional sound of confusion or pain, never any recognition of an actual voice. However, even those were only brought out on specifically necessary occasions. The cryptic flamethrower-wielding pyromaniac is shrouded in mystery and an impassible optical mask every moment of every day. Though it is such the norm that no one pays much attention to their team member’s lack of visage and practical speech. Some have even learned to correctly acknowledge Pyro; being able to identify the urgency, or basic reasoning behind his attempt to communicate through wild hand waving. No of course they’re not clever enough to hold a conversation with Pyro; all save, except for one.

Spy, clever, cunning, and devious as ever, has come to learn more about Pyro than anyone else, possibly even more than Pyro himself. You could even go so far as to accuse the masked Frenchman of admiring the younger fire-wielder; what with all his prior surveillance, Spy would be the only one capable of such. Perhaps what generates such odd attraction is the Spy’s innate desire for danger and a challenge. It is not as if Pyro alone would be able, let alone truly desire, to do much damage without an objective; no, Pyro isn’t like that despite common belief, he attempts to be organized. That being when he’s not off in Pyro-Land. 

However, the raw power the younger team member possesses whilst wielding that flamethrower, or swinging that axe runs a chill up and down Spy’s spine. Someone who acted so naïve, and perhaps didn’t even understand the team’s final goal in fighting, could be so incredibly lethal, to Spy specifically. He ponders if Pyro knows just how easily his flamethrower could destroy everything Spy needs to do his job. 

Inevitably, Spy keeps to himself, and is specifically vague when the Pyro is brought up in passing conversation. Though his interest continues to be piqued as he semi-subconsciously continues to study the other.

.1.  
\----+----

Across the room Engineer fiddles tirelessly with the quivering thermostat, attempting to get it working again, or at least bring the temperature in the base up. Soldier paces behind him in an agitated manner, wanting to push the Texan aside and do the fixing himself, but allowing the shorter man to do his job. 

Pyro and Scout sit on the couch; Scout wrapped in a thick emergency blanket meant to suffocate fires, and Pyro curled in on himself not saying a word, but shivering considerably. Spy has tucked himself away in a high place, waiting out the cold while still capable of keeping an eye out for his team. 

Thankfully the BLU team’s base heater had been blown out as well; if fate is working in any kind of unison then the other team is also working on their thermostat. “Damn it…” Engineer mutters, sitting back on his heels. Soldier leans down just a tad, resting his hands on his knees.

“What self-respecting American boy can’t fix a simple heater?” He yells in the Texan’s ear. Engineer sighs, keeping his cool and standing up to meet the other’s face. 

“Look here, I enjoy my job, but I don’t need you screamin’ at me the whole time. Thanks for the encouragement, but I need to go grab some tools.” His voice wavers on the verge of actual anger, but it all subsides as the Texan snatches his worn winter coat and heads to the exit.

Scout eagerly follows suit, throwing on two different jackets. “Wait up for me ‘Tex.” He slurs, running out the door after the Engineer, nearly running into their Medic who returns from his trip to his stockpile of supplies. The German steps inside, shivering lightly from the freezing chill that rakes at the door. Pyro looks over, greeting the other with a small wave. 

“Halo, Pyro. You are enduring the cold I se-“ He is interrupted when Soldier pushes past him, determined to oversee Engineer. Once he has left, Medic sighs, smoothing out his raven colored hair. “You are doing well?” He finishes, hesitating in his stride to greet the Pyro with a recessive smile. The masked fire-wielder shrugs silently as per the norm. 

“Well, aside from the glaciate temperatures, I’m sure he is just great _finemon médecin juste._ ” Spy smirks, strutting out from the shadows of their base to glare at the Medic. Over on the couch, Pyro is quick to shake his head and wave his hands, attempting in vain to portray that he’s not upset about anything in particular. Inevitably he is ignored as the two older RED Team members begin to butt-heads.

Medic defensively holds out his chest, a perturbed look crossing his chiseled features but a sly grin crosses what is visible of Spy’s face. “Listen, I really don’t vant to argue about this. I vas inquiring in regards to his well-being despite the cold.” He growls not wanting to argue and leaving to his private office.

Pyro turns his head towards the RED team’s Spy, clad in an expensive French suit. The Spy’s expression softens considerably; a devilish smirk morphing into a soft smile as he squishes his cigarette bud into the table next to him. The masked fire-wielder holds his hand out straight, barely touching it to his face and pushing it upwards to the right. 

_‘Hello.’_

In response, Spy wafts his hands barely over his chest twice before holding out his index and middle finger on his right hand and touching the area right below his eye, then bringing the same hand position out and back down to his center.

_‘I’m glad to see you.’_

The Pyro turns more fully backwards on the couch, looking quite happy for someone wearing a gas mask. He points towards the other with his right hand, bringing it inwards to meet his other hand with scrunched fingers, then pulling both hands back to his right shoulder and pushing them both out with pointed fingers and finishing with a shrug. 

_‘How have you been?’_

With a kind smile, the Spy moves a gloved hand to hover over the center of his chest whilst making discrete circles with his hand, then he raises both hands, flat palmed, upwards and finishes by motioning them forward towards Pyro. 

_‘I feel fantastic.’_

Pyro shifts himself on the couch before turning back around. He taps his index and middle fingers against the other pair of digits before bringing his right hand down and making a couple small circular motions over his chest. 

_‘Have a seat, please!’_

Having been on his way to finish a prior engagement, the Spy raises his hand, bringing all his fingers together to a point, but then flattening his hand and touching it to his chin and moving it to the side before he leans forward to rests his hands on the back of the couch for a moment.  
Before the younger team member can respond, the Frenchman holds out his wrist and wafts over it with his other hand, spinning it back around and down to his wrist into a fist, and finishing the motion by tapping his watch.

_‘No, thank you.’_

_‘I have an appointment.’_

Pyro shrugs with a somewhat disappointed nod and turns back around on the couch. Spy sighs, but his smile does not fade as he leans around to kiss the Pyro’s goggle, starling the younger fire-wielder enough to end up sideways on the sofa. This only brings a chuckle past the Frenchman’s lips. He holds his right arm out to the side and brings his hand in towards his center, his index and middle fingers held up, the motion is finished when he flattens his hand and shudders it up and down in front of his mouth. 

_‘I will be back soon.’_

With that, the RED Spy saunters from the room, leaving the Pyro in the living room alone with his thoughts. 

\----+----

“Good-fer-nothin’ BLU idgits acting like they own the damn place. They better bet they’re going to pa- OW DAMMIT BE CAREFUL YOU SONUVA BITCH!” The team’s Soldier’s colorful string of vocabulary continues as Engineer and Medic help to haul the hard-headed American into the RED base. Heavy follows the small group, a slight limp in his step and more than a slight blood stain on his side.

The majority of the team struggles in from the prior round, bleeding, but pleased with their win. The Engineer fumbles back into the main entryway after getting Soldier into the Medical Bay, shutting the large doors for the night after dragging in what was salvageable of his sapped sentries. He sighs, taking off his hardhat and wiping his head. He looks over to Medic, “You’ve got your work cut out fer’ you I reckon.” 

Pyro stumbles out from the medical bay just a few minutes later, feeling slightly rejuvenated, though wishing Medic hadn’t missed the deep bruises setting in on his leg. At least Engie had gotten the chance to fix the heater before the days fighting, at least it’s warm again. Scout taps his bat mindlessly against his heel, his eyes locked on the ceiling. The masked team member looks around curiously, realizing the off-ness of only one thing. He turns to Scout and taps on his shoulder to gain his attention. Pyro starts a sign by holding a hand up and waving his index finger once, then holding both hands up in a motion similar to a shrug.

_‘Where is-‘_

“Stop waving around and tell me what the fuck you want?” The Scout snaps, immediately regretting his decision to yell as he grabs at his temples when the internal pain hits him.

Engineer meanders in the room further and holds up a hand to them both, “Wait hang on kid. Pyro was tellin’ you.” He looks to the RED Pyro, gesturing for him to continue. H repeats the hand motion he did previously, only this time finishing it with a three-letter hand-sign. Now, Engineer has a limited understanding of his team member’s language, but nevertheless got the simple to decipher word. Or name, as it may. “Where’s Spy? Shoot, I didn’t even notice he’s still gone. Where is that yelle’ belly?” Engie reaches under his hardhat to scratch his head in contemplation, looking around as if their masked compatriot would materialize if he looked hard enough. 

Pyro signed a longer set of motions that no one picked up on. He slaps his own forehead before motioning to himself then out the door and to the flamethrower in the corner. “No way,” Engie picked up on that rather quickly. “I ain’t letting you go out there. I’ll have Sniper go out later,” The Texan stops, having noticed the recoil in Pyro when his voice had been raised. The Firebug’s body language shows every sign of nervous anxiousness and worry. He sighs, “Spy is a sneaky devil, he’s been in and out of the enemy base more times than I’ve built a sentry. I’m sure he’s fine.” He assures more gently, putting a hand on Pyro’s shoulder. 

The younger fire-wielder doesn’t buy it for more than 2 minutes, because within that period of time he has hooked up a new propane tank to his flamethrower and is sneaking out through the supply shed. Sniper caught the Pyro on his way out, merely giving a strict word of caution and wishing him luck. Sniper wouldn’t admit it but he was becoming concerned for their masked team member as well.

It is quiet outside the base, not too quiet, but considerably more than during the day when rocket launchers, guns, and Pyro’s own flamethrower are ringing around in everyone’s ears. And it’s fucking cold. Pyro hears his own steps, each one of them punctuated with the crunch of gravel beneath battle-worn boots. 

The BLU base is looming in the night, the few outdoor lighting fixtures blinking occasionally, the moths and nats flying around them in fascination. Pyro scans with his covered eyes, desperately trying to locate the RED Spy; searching for any indication of the red blazer he wears, the ivory-encrusted revolver he carries, his cigarette case, anything that would reveal his whereabouts. 

Half an hour passes with no such finding, and Pyro feels his luck is running out after a close-encounter with the BLU Team’s Medic; barely having time to jump around a dark corner to hide. Pyro sighs and cracks his neck and shoulders; sure Pyro is used to carrying around a weapon that weighs almost 100 pounds, but having to sneak around with it and keep it from even bumping into a wall in fear of alerting the enemy team of their whereabouts, is tasking beyond belief.

Down another darkened hallway, the Pyro hears something discerning; a pained moan from around the corner. He can’t smell anything through the optical mask, but a clear pool of blood creeps around the corner. The fire-wielder sets his flamethrower down with eerie quietness and places a hand on the wall to steady his fatigued body. After an anxious look around the corner, Pyro falls to his knees, skidding over to the RED Spy currently unconscious and bleeding out; reaching out and pulling the taller man’s head into his lap with uncharacteristic gentleness. 

Signing won’t help the fire-starter here, so he gingerly taps on the Spy’s head and shakes his shoulders; trying to wake him but not injure him further simultaneously. The Frenchman groans, shifting uncomfortably but still unconscious in the Pyro’s lap. Pyro looks around, noticing how Spy had managed to keep himself hidden in the darkest corner of the BLU’s base where just about nobody went. 

_Cleaver boy._

Pyro smirks to himself, admiring the back-stabber’s determination to avoid Respawn, determination Pyro does not share; the fire-starter will choose to finish himself off before he agonizingly bleeds to death. 

However, this same determination has morphed from the Spy’s foolish hard-headedness, into a real and dangerous problem. Respawn is down. Engineer has been tinkering with the system since the day ended; trying to be rid of the 5 minute delay between death and respawning, which involves shutting-off Respawn about 2 hours before it is usually shut-down. That may be the reason Engie strictly warned against leaving the base, it had completely slipped Pyro’s mind that Respawn wasn’t an option. 

His motions suddenly become more frantic and urgent as the realization sinks in. Unable to call for help, the fire-wielder hefts Spy up and over his shoulder, inwardly apologizing when his masked team member groans in pain at the sudden motions. 

The walk back to RED base seems longer and more tasking. Understandably of course, with a 160 pound man on your shoulders and another 87 pounds worth of flamethrower in one hand, it would seem more difficult to anyone. 

Pyro reaches about mid-courtyard, a mere few yards from the entrance to the RED base when a snapping twig alerts him to another presence behind him. 

_How cliché, just like a fucking horror movie._

The Pyro almost laughs at the cause of his upcoming death. Fuck Spy for getting himself hurt, fuck Engineer for choosing tonight to ‘tinker’ with the goddamn Respawn and shut if off before the allotted time. Because now they are both going to fucking die because of this stupid motherfucker who chose to be awake at 1 in the morning. 

The BLU team’s Spy lowers his cloak, becoming visible even in the darkness of the battlefield. He has his knife out already, and a cigarette smokes from its place pursed between the enemy’s lips. Neither said a word; Pyro knows he could just drop the Spy on his shoulder and fight the Spy in front of him, but that would be stupid considering the RED Spy’s unstable predicament; throwing him down could mean a broken bone piercing an important internal organ or something medical that Pyro doesn’t quite understand.  
The enemy Spy clearly doesn’t want to waste any time as his arm swings back with the butterfly knife in hand and a smirk on his face. 

_Shit, this is all Spy’s fault. Stupid fucking French idiot trying to act proper and getting his ass abandoned in the enemy’s goddamn base. Fuck, I never gave Heavy back his book that I never read, and I forgot to lock my damn door; I’m sure Scout will have a fucking playdate in there once I’m pushin’ up daisies._

An almost inaudible bang catches the Pyro’s attention, and once his eyes focus again the BLU Spy is no longer in front of him, not standing at least. He also no longer has a recognizable head, and his dumb-ass French suit is pretty much stained beyond repair.

_Boom, headshot._

The Pyro chuckles to himself, looking far to the left where the RED Sniper, bless his heart, had set up in the tower to keep an eye out for the younger fire-starter. A hopeful thought that maybe BLU’s Respawn was shut down early as well crosses over the Firebug’s mind, but it diminishes as the BLU Spy begins to disappear as their Respawn begins to reset him.  
Still thankful, Pyro sets his flamethrower down for just a moment to offer a quick thanks by waving. The Australian stands up and tips his hat, noticeable even from the distance.

The celebration is short lived; Spy shifts again, a weak cough escaping his mouth along with more than a bit of blood slipping over his lips and sending his teammate into a panic again. Pyro grabs his flamethrower by the larger top handle and runs the final distance to the door, banging furiously on the metal with his foot. It only takes about 30 seconds for Engineer to unlock the industrial sized locks and greet the fire-starter with a surprised look. “Pyro! What in tarnation-?!” 

“ _Scheiße_! Pyro, bring him in, quickly!” Medic pushes the Texan aside, taking the strain off Pyro and lifting the Spy himself. Heavy is in the mix almost immediately and has the Frenchman in his behemoth like arms. “ _Nein,_ ” The German snaps at Pyro just before they enter the medical bay. “You stay here, zere is no space for onlookers. I vill inform you ze’ moment he is stable, _danke_.” Medic slams the door behind him and Heavy, ignoring the frantic hand motions of his shorter teammate. Engineer walks over, placing a hand on the fire-starter’s shoulder, pulling him away from the now locked door and into the living space. Soldier still curses to himself from his seat on the couch, and is startled when the Pyro sits down on the sofa as well. 

Pyro says nothing, nobody directs any sort of comment at the fire-wielder, merely making small talk with one another. Engineer says nothing to anyone, same as Pyro and keeps his hand on his friend’s shoulder, looking solemn. 

_Why am I worried? Why am I worried about the damn Spy, sure he’s my teammate but I’ll be damned if I don’t hate him in every sense of the word._

_Then why? Why is my chest so tight, why am I so angry; not at Spy, but at whatever bastard beat the fuck out of him and left him for dead! Shit, am I crying? No, no I’m not. But I’m sure as hell close to though._

_I’ve never wanted a hug more._

Pyro stands up, signing each letter of _c-o-m-e a-l-o-n-g_ to the mechanic and walking back towards the bunks with him. Once they are separated from the tea Engie asks what Pyro is up to, and is given a few hesitant hand motions in response. 

_‘I feel sick and-‘_

The fire-user can’t find it in him to finish the sentence, deflating and slouching into a low and insecure stance. Engineer, fuck does Pyro have great taste in friends, steps forward and pulls him into a tight hug. Now Engineer is the shortest member of the team, Pyro only a minute inch, maybe 2 inches above him. They are both short, but Engie is shorter but physically more muscular and his arms seem to envelope the younger team member. 

_Damn it, I’m not an emotional teenager, what the fuck am I even doing._

Pyro ignores his mind’s protests, stretching out to grasp the Texan in a needy hug. Hardhat is happy to oblige, merely holding on tighter to the other and rubbing small circles over his back comfortingly. It seems like forever until the Pyro finally lets go, slipping down against the wall and curling up into an insecure ball.

Engineer follows him down, kneeling in front of his masked teammate. He hesitates but raises his hand over his chest and makes two small circular motions, then flattening that same hand and bringing it down sideways to tap against his gloved hand. He hesitates again but seems to find his head and finishes his motion by sliding his top hand up to raise his index finger and then shrugs. 

_‘How do you feel?’_

A big grin covers Pyro’s face, not that Engineer can see it, but it is there nonetheless. It is exciting and completely heart-touching seeing Truckie actually sign something to him, even if the motions were slow and second-guessed. 

In sheer excitement of the moment, the Pyro rapidly answers by raising a gloved hand to make one small circle over his chest then flexing the same hand and turning it sideways; motioning toward himself but keeping his palm flat. 

_‘I feel fine.’_

“Liar.”

Well that didn’t convince him for a hot minute. Pyro smirks, admitting that the mechanic was too cleaver to be off-handed like that. Sighing, he repeats the circular motion over his chest, then wiping his hand up by his face, out, and then down to rest it again.

_‘I feel lousy…’_

That is by far more believable, and hell it’s the truth. Pyro buries him face into his arms, hiding from view and curling in tighter. From within his pocket, the fire-starter pulls out a thin, silver lighter with a lovely red ‘R’ in script on one side, and on the other side in the same script only smaller reads ‘Pyro’ and then a small engraving in something French Spy had never told him the English translation.

“What’cha got there buddy?” Engineer points absentmindedly to the small device which the other had already flicked open and lit, and is starring at it intently. Not finding the will to make exaggerated signs, Pyro makes it simple and signs _S-p-y_ , that appearing to sate the Texan’s curiosity. After more than a few minutes of silence the Engineer speaks again, “You’re a good friend to that yelle’ belly. Probably the only one he’s got. I sure-as-heck know I wouldn’t have risked my tail for him and I doubt the rest of the team would; he’s done nothin’ much for us to warrant the same kindness you show ‘im. Now I ain’t sure what compassion he’s shown you, all I know is he’s learned how to talk to ya’ and understand ya’ better than anyone around here, even me.” His smile is so welcoming and comforting. “So, I give ‘im that, it’s quite a feat considering I haven’t quite figured it out yet.” He chuckles.

Pyro smiles to himself, carefully reaching out to pat Engie on the shoulder in a silent thanks. Engineer soon convinces the fire-user to retire to his room; assuring to him that the Spy would be fine and sleep would be a good option to rest the mind. 

Any convincing the Texan may have worked into him is shattered as Pyro steps out of his room a couple hours later; having not slept or even taken off his chem suit. Everyone else is most likely asleep, or at least doing their own things by now; save Sniper who is still in the main living room sharpening his kikuri, and Medic who is still awake and taking care of Spy.

Thankfully, he isn’t anywhere near ready to leave, despite Heavy’s protest over an hour ago; he isn’t going to leave, and Pyro knows that. The fire-wielder taps lightly at the door, waiting a few moments before a very exhausted-looking Medic opens the steel door. “Ah, hallo Pyro. _Wie_ …” He sighs, rubbing his pale eyes, “ _Wie gehts_?” There is blood smeared over his arms and a few smudges on his face, contrasting his pale skin in the dark light. He looks like shit, all else aside. 

Now Medic doesn’t understand a lick of ASL, to him it’s all sporadic movements, and trying to sign to him would be a waste of time and only cause problems. Though the Pyro’s presence seemed to be communication enough, “You may come in to see him now. He is asleep but is at least doing better.” His accent is evident but his voice is so tired and exhausted it’s hard to tell, and it has been such an obvious part of who Medic is; it is weird to hear him so drained.

Pyro grabs a black marker from his pocket, a bit charred but useable. He grabs at a pad of paper Medic keeps around and scribbles down a quick note, in surprisingly decent handwriting, and hands it to him. 

_-Thank you, I’m sure you took great care of him. I can watch him tonight and you can sleep.-_

The German smiles, resting his hand on the Pyro’s shoulder and lets out a heavy sigh, one brought about from progressing insomnia, not exasperation. “Z’ank you Pyro, I did try. If you could vatch him, zhat vould _wunderbar_.” There’s that accent again, it makes Pyro’s lips twitch up into an unseen grin. “He may v’ake up sometime v’ithin ‘ze hour. If he does, talking to him vould comfort him immensely.” It takes him a minute but he stops straightening his mess of a desk and turns back, “Sorry.” He offers a sheepish smile as an apology. Pyro shrugs, such an admirable guy, you couldn’t stay mad him. 

Medic picks up a few of his papers, regarding Pyro as he leaves, more eager to get back to work than to sleep. The fire-user takes a gander around the room; rather large and filled with all sorts of junk, mostly tools of medicine, and a few of Heavy’s crates of artillery. There’s only one ‘room’ closed off by a white curtain; a small orange-yellow glow emitting from within, most likely a lamp.

Pyro stops, having to push himself forward at the sight of Spy still unconscious and hooked up to many machines. The heart monitor beeps steadily, a good sign from what Pyro understands, and there is a blood drip attached to the Frenchman’s wrists, the bag simply reading ‘Spy’. He shifts in his sleep, his head turning to the opposite side and leg twitching in the slightest; it would have been cute had he not been hooked up to, what Pyro assumes, is life support.

Medic’s Medigun is mounted to the ceiling but has been long-since drained, so is now no longer a help to Spy, it has done all it can; and Spy’s recovery is up to Medic’s surgical skill and Spy’s will now. 

The sight hurts the fire-user’s heart; this was Spy, the same arrogant, sneaky, conniving bastard their team depends on for so much, lying unconscious in the med bay after nearly dying off for good. Fuck, it’s a humbling scene. Pyro pulls a chair up to the bed, presuming he would be there through the night and finds his eyes settling on Spy’s deceivingly calm face. There’s a good bruise barely visible right under his eye, mostly covered by his baklava; it looks painful but nothing Pyro hadn’t seen, or had, before. 

However, the bandages across the Spy’s chest and brace on his back do worry him. Perhaps a bit too curiously, Pyro lightly touches the bandages and is rebutted when Spy gasps in pain, his knees jerking upwards to try and curl up.

_I’ll get that bastard back._

He finds himself promising to Spy, moving his hand to rest on Spy’s own bandaged appendage. The saboteur flinches again, but not as clearly as last time, and after a few moments seems to relax and return to tranquility. The Firebug sighs, glancing up at the clock; 3:00 am, fuck. 

It’s not that he’s tired, more so that they all have to go out and work tomorrow; not many would ever say this but, fuck Fridays. “Nh…” The small sound distracts the Pyro and draws his attention back to the shifting form in front of him. If the fire-starter could talk he would be asking almost frantically if Spy was okay, yelling at him for not just going through goddamn Respawn earlier that day; thankfully he cannot, so he waits semi-patiently for the Frenchman to wake up, holding considerably tighter to his hand. 

Finally, rich brown eyes open to the soft yellow-tinted light of the medical bay, dilating and re-dilating as his eyes get used to the light in the room and he starts to clear the fuzz from his head. “Ah,” Spy groans, his free hand moving to his head, “ _Merde._ ” He grits his teeth and sighs, the pounding in his head already proving to be taxing. Soon he realizes the presence to his right and the tight grasp on his hand. “Firebug?” A small smile graces his lips seeing the younger merc’ straighten up and sign a long string of worried questions and a few curses thrown in. Pyro stops after a few moments, realizing Spy isn’t comprehending the signs in his disoriented state, and instead takes hold of his hand again. 

“Calm down _mon ami_ , I am fine.” Spy smiles assuredly. “I’m sorry for ze’ trouble I seem to have caused.” He adds as an afterthought, patting Pyro’s arm and instantly regretting that decision as a pain shoot up to his shoulder. He flinches again and draws back his arm, only worrying the fire-wielder further. “Non non non, I am fine.” Spy waves his hand, ignoring the pain with a practiced ease.

The Pyro’s body language screams concern; he won’t sit still and continues to hold the Frenchman’s hand. He glances down to his teammate’s bandaged arm then back up. He takes both his hands and hold them side by side in fists before pulling them apart in a motion similar to breaking a stick in half. His right hand remains up; Pyro raises his index finger and hooks the digit in the air then shrugs. 

_’Is it broken?’_

The fire-user replaces his hold on Spy’s hand and gains a simple shake of the head, “No I don’t think so.” Spy is too tired to sign but he does anyway by making a couple small circles over his chest with his free hand before pulling his other hand free and touching his chest with his fingertips and dragging them down gently in a ‘V’ shape. 

_‘I feel tired.’_

Now that just makes the younger merc’ feel bad, and Pyro draws away back into his chair, wanting anything but to bother his friend. Spy notices quickly and rephrases himself by repeating a phrase he had used just earlier that day. Though he adds a short sign beforehand by crossing both his index fingers into an ‘X’ and pulling them up and apart, then he wafts his hands barely over his chest twice before holding out his index and middle finger on his right hand and touching the area right below his eye, then bringing the same hand position out and back down to his center.

 _‘But, I am glad to see you.’_

He smiles again, reassuring the Firebug that his presence is more than welcome. It is Spy’s turn to reach out and take the Pyro’s hand and pull it back up to rest with his on the bed. “’ow long ‘ave you been up? And ‘ow did I get here, what ‘appened?” He asks, trying to sit up but the pain in his back forcing him back down.

After a long story and a slight hand cramp, not to mention a curse or two directed at Spy for being…something about “a stupid French idiot who can’t take care of himself”, Pyro finishes the story, letting out a long breathe through his mask, having been holding his breath for no obvious reason. 

_I’m putting him in danger…_

“Heheh,” Spy chuckles, nudging the fire-starter’s face kiddingly. “Thank you Firebug, I could be dead.” His smile threatens to widen as he continues, “And you could ‘ave left me. You could have assumed what everyone else assumed and concluded I was simply out doing my own thing. But you cared enough to come looking.” Offhandedly, Spy kisses Pyro’s goggle as he had earlier that day, the smile not leaving his face. “It means more than you know.”

_Pyro…This is…not good…_

Pyro smiles fondly, not seen by Spy, but there nonetheless. He rubs small circles over the back of Spy’s hand supportively. “Why don’t you ever take off your mask Firebug? You seem so distant from everyone.” Spy reaches for his cigarette case on the nearby table, taking a fresh one from the center. “Not to mention I am ‘ze only one who- _Merde_ , Pyro do you ‘ave a light?” He directs his gaze towards the Pyro.

He quickly reaches for the engraved lighter in his pocket and hands it over to the Frenchman, but not before rubbing his thumb over the red ‘R’. “Oh, you ‘ave kept ‘zis.” Spy says, more as a statement than a question, also thumbing the engravings and lighting his cigarette. 

_Oh dear…_

The fire-user reaches over and points down at the French writing underneath his name and shrugs. “Oh, I never told you?” Pyro shakes his head ‘no’ and sit back in his seat; Spy hesitates and takes a long drag from his fag.

_Definitely not good, I don’t think you know the danger I put you in. Why…why do you have this still…I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt…oh Firebug…_

Pyro shifts in his seat, just itching to know. Seconds turn into minutes and neither say, or sign, anything to the other, merely sitting in comfortable silence despite Pyro’s eager curiosity. Spy’s mind doesn’t stop working for even one of those moments during that minute, his pulse quickening by two paces and smoke-puffing becoming hastier. He comes to a realization in his heart, one he does not want to acknowledge, but after a deep assessing of the current situation he knows what he must say…but he can’t find the words in his mouth just yet. “Vous…” Spy sighs, letting a large puff of smoke rise from between his lips. “ _Vous êtes la lumière de ma vie._ ” He hands the lighter back to the fire-starter, who takes it to look it over even more.

 _I’m so stupid…I’m so sorry._

That means nothing to the Firebug and he looks back up and cocks his head in confusion, shrugging in a common known motion of ‘what?’. This only makes Spy chuckle and snuff out his half-gone cigarette; odd, considering he has a limited amount of the “good kind” he likes so much. He lay back with a small smile gracing his angular features regardless of the apprehensive and…scarred look in his eyes. “You are my friend, you know that, right Pyro? I consider you a friend…” Spy leans back against the wall the bed was pushed up against, his smile becoming noticeably forced. 

_Yes you will always be my friend Pyro, please understand that…please…_

The fire-user nods and holds one hand level with his chest in a fist and uses his other hand’s index and middle fingers to draw an invisible line horizontally above the other hand, and finishing by tapping the top of his hand with the same fingers. 

_‘Of course!’_

“Good.” The Spy’s smile falters for a moment down into a worried frown, but twitches upward again and he reaches out to take Pyro’s hand, as they had been earlier. “Just thought I should tell you…” A distant smile decorates his thin lips, deceiving the Firebug of his inner turmoil.

_It’s not fair…it just isn’t…come on, tell him Spy…please get this over with…_

Apparently he is truly stirred up by this confrontation, because he takes out another cigarette from his case, not even having to ask as Pyro hands him the lighter. 

He lights it quietly, but this time does not hand it back right away. “You are…the light of my life.” His eyes dart away, “That is what the lighter says.” He hands it back and crosses his arms, looking completely unsure. 

Pyro’s head shoots up, startled, confused, and flustered all at the same time. Thank god for that suit, because Pyro’s face lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree. The Frenchman seems to draw back into himself and sink into the wall and focus more on his cigarette than the other person in the room.

 _Light of my….what? Gee I don’t quite know what to say… a bit cheesy for your taste ain’t it Spy?_

Deciding that trying to sign something now would be jumbled and flustered, Pyro slowly reaches out and places his hand over Spy’s again. There is no smile on the Frenchman’s face this time, only a red tinge visible from behind his mask, and quite shockingly, a deep scowl that suddenly takes over. “I ‘ave made it my goal to stay away from relationships like ours, Pyro.” He growls matter-of-fact, which startles the fire-starter.  
Now Spy is glaring at him; glaring! “We ‘ave all been together for years and I ‘ave tried to stay away from any of you! And the fact that I ‘ave failed ‘iz eating me out from the inside.” He stops, taking another drag of his smoke, his voice lowers and he switches to look down towards the bed in an upset manner. “And it’s your fault.”

_I’m sorry Pyro, I don’t mean it please, you’re my best friend and I love you, please understand._

Noticing the Firebug isn’t taking the hint he snaps again, “I do not want to be around you, we can no longer be friends.” 

Pyro lets go of Spy’s hand and moves away from the bed completely, a grimace on his face though it is not seen. Spy doesn’t move or say anything and merely continues smoking; he doesn’t regret what he said, and from the sounds of it he had a lot of contemplation put into saying it. 

Pyro flattens his palm with his thumb pointing towards his chest, and makes an angered circular motion. 

_‘Fine!’_

He throws the middle-finger at Spy before hastily exiting, as an afterthought Pyro turns to a still nonchalant-looking Spy; somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, Pyro wanted desperately for Spy to jolt up, despite his injuries, and apologize and hug him, then they would both stay in the medical bay and offer some petty gossip about the rest of their team through the night. But this isn’t a fairytale, this is reality, and it fucking hurts more than any knife-to-the-back when Pyro throws the lighter on the ground and storms out, slamming the heavy door behind him. 

_I don’t need Spy, he’s a douchebag anyway. F-fuck him! I’ll go talk to E..Engie and…and I’ll probably just g-go out and burn some trees. Ss-tupid F..french idiot I…_

His angered thoughts are forced to stop as a hard sob shakes his entire body; he leans heavily on the wall outside his door. When had he gotten to his room, or started fucking crying like a goddamn baby? It doesn’t matter because he fucking is and it’s fucking stupid because Spy is just a piece of shit who doesn’t even deserve Pyro as a friend. He’s confused, and upset, but mostly confused and there is no reason in the Firebug’s mind as he slams the door to his room behind him. 

Pyro doesn’t sleep that night, rather stays up in the absolute silence of his room, mask and chem’ suit still on. He stopped crying soon after he realized he was and straightened out, because damn-it he’s better than that. Thinking over the happenings of the day he realizes something; Spy isn’t worth it, he concludes. Engineer is awake at 7 that morning and finds his way to Pyro’s room, receiving the quick rundown of what had happened from the Firebug. He consoles the Pyro for a while but is assured that he’s alright; he later promises that the Pyro can hang out with him at the nest today whenever the RED team is forced into defense. To this the fire-user agrees thankfully.

.2.  
\----+----

That day goes by painfully slowly for the RED Spy; not cleared for battle by Medic he is trapped in the base, the med’ bay specifically, his Ambassador laying on the bed with him just in case. His mind drifts in and out of both distracting thoughts and thinking about his decisions the previous night with Pyro. 

He had half-expected to see Pyro that morning but was sadly disappointed when Medic brought him some food, which he has not touched, and did a quick check-up on his condition before leaving for the field. 

“I have succeeded,” Spy mumbles to himself, subconsciously rolling the lighter he gave Pyro in his hands, fingers tracing the Firebug’s name. “’e is safe now…” His sight catches the French engraving underneath the other’s name and he closes his fist around the silver box. “ _Light of my life_ …what came over me?” Slowly, he lets the lighter slip out of his hand and onto the hard floor below with an empty clang. 

It had been incredibly stupid of a prestigious killer such as Spy to grow so inseparably close to the fire-wielder, why had the thought even crossed his mind that he could have a real relationship? Pyro is his exact opposite anyway, can’t tell the difference between spies when push comes to shove. Stupid. His head falls back against the bed matting, and he sighs, internally kicking himself for more than one reason and realizing how fucking stupid he is… 

Never, not once since they had been acquainted, had Spy ever stopped loving Pyro.

As a friend, as more than that, it doesn’t matter anymore. Their relationship was dangerous, and there is no room in war for a Spy to act like that; endangering the only one he ever felt close enough to, to call a friend. Respawn is deactivated at night, after the designated curfew; and while there is an agreed ceasefire on any given night, that hadn’t stopped the enemy Spy from taking out some of the competition while they sleep. 

RED Spy is not about to let that happen to their Pyro. “I am protecting him,” Spy tries to cope by smoking his third cigarette since he woke up, assuring himself it was for the best. “Pyro…may hate me, but; he is safe…” His breath hitches but he ignores it and returns to focusing on his smoke. 

It had hurt Spy to tell off his best friend that way; forcing those empty, uncaring words past his lips and holding that cigarette tight despite his hand’s tremors. Seeing Pyro throw the lighter Spy had gotten personally engraved for him was just salt in an opened wound. Though he still understands how crucial it was to have broken those ties, how much more secure the Pyro is now. In the end, Spy hates himself more than anything in the world; for having grown so close to Pyro, for putting him in danger, and now for needing to protect him by telling him off. All of it. 

Down the hall he can hear Respawn working, footsteps shuffle past the med-bay doors and return past it within seconds. “Come on now kid you’re alright, a blast from the Medigun should have that healed up right quick.” That was Engineer, odd, because according to the most recent loudspeaker announcement the RED team is on defense, so he shouldn’t be too far from his nest. There’s a few moments of silence until that Texan accent speaks out again, “Right I know, I know, just hang in there I can’t afford to send you through Respawn again.” 

Since there had been no other voice, Spy assumes, with a small twinge in his heart, that the other present is the Pyro, and from the sounds of it Respawn has missed yet another injury. That doesn’t sit well with Spy, but he has no power to do anything as Engineer speaks up again. “I didn’t quite catch that one, but I promise I’ll yell for Medic the moment we see ‘im, now c’mon.” Two pairs of footsteps run from within the base and back into the fight outside.

Spy lets out a deep breath; apparently he had been holding it. The whole situation is giving him a nagging headache; hopefully tomorrow he will be back out stabbing backs like only he does best, sapping sentries, and avoiding the BLU team’s Pyro, and possibly his own team’s Pyro if the situation allowed for such. 

At some point during the match, Spy’s body decides that it is done staying upright and he drifts off to sleep, well, more like forced unconsciousness. It’s not until a couple hours later he registers the shouting voices around him, not from the fight, but from the very room he is kept in. Groggily he opens his eyes to the harsh surgery lights engulfing the room, quite the change from the soft yellow glow of the lamp that had lit the room before he went to sleep. There’s a small window in the ceiling, a skylight; Spy offhandedly notices how dark it is and that the fighting must be done with by now. Then why is there so much goddamn noise?

He looks around, his fuzzy vision not able to pick anything in particular out; just vague human shapes running back and forth, only two though. “ _Bekommen das Skalpell fur mich!_ ” Alright that was Medic, easily enough.

“Why, I didn’t understand a bloomin’ word ‘a that but here’s this tool.” The Texan drawl makes it obvious the other person in the room is Engineer, strange because that man may have 7 PhD’s but does not know a single thing about the medical field.

Apparently Engie guessed right as Medic offers his thanks and returns to whatever they are doing. “Nh, Engineer,” Spy pushes himself up, supporting his torso with one arm and using the other to rub the sleep from his eyes. The Texan turns and acknowledges the other quickly. “What ‘as ‘appened?” He wonders offhandedly, expecting nothing more serious that Respawn having missed a few more injuries.

“It’s Pyro,” The words fall heavier on Spy than any death certificate he could ever receive. “Got hurt pretty bad and Respawn didn’t pick ‘im up and…well Medic’s workin’ on it.” Spy’s grip on the bed sheets tighten and his pulse almost stops, thought he stays collected externally for the most part, and he’s good at it. 

Taking a silent but deep breath the Frenchman regards Engineer with a nonchalant look, “Right, I am sure he will do what he can.” He casually takes out a cigarette from the case, soon realizing he had no lighter, other than the one Pyro had thrown in his anger, and he was simply not using that one. 

Engineer looks him over once, an odd look covering up something Spy can’t quite pick out in his pre-waking up haze. “So you feelin’ any better?” He rubs the back of his head, not used to actually having time to speak to the other merc’ let alone ask him a legitimate question about his well-being. Spy offers a distant nod, and searches his person again for his own lighter, which had probably gotten left in the enemy base with his luck. That thing had made it 2 years through the wars with him, always in his front left-side pocket; granted he had to refill the lighter fluid no less than three times every month, he just smokes that much. Engineer clears his throat, bringing Spy’s mind back to the conversation at hand as opposed to his lost lighter, something the Texan is not going to waste his time fretting over. “Oh well good, in that case-“ Engie swings his right arm forward, landing a powerful punch to the Spy’s chin, hard enough to knock him over and cause his cigarette to roll off onto the floor. It wasn’t expected, and Spy offhandedly applauds him for covering up his anger, something few people have managed to achieve especially considering his and Pyro’s friendship stretching back since before either of them knew Spy. “That’s fer’ hurtin’ our little Firebug right after he saved your sorry ass.” Engineer growls, pointing an accusing finger in the Frenchman’s, now bruised, face. Spy says nothing and doesn’t make much of a leap to move or cradle his stinging cheekbone, but the look he offers is one of silent and begrudging apology. Engineer storms back over to Medic, pulling the curtain shut and almost yanking the thing off the curtain rings in the process, all the while glaring daggers. Apparently Medic had been told at least part of the story judging by the tempered scowl on his face, and his lack of reaction when the Texan had punched Spy. It isn’t like Medic to judge or even get into anyone else’s business, save Heavy’s perhaps; but when it comes to Pyro most of the team has proven to hold a familial bond over him, safeguarding his innocent and naïve nature, while avoiding coddling him or making it overly-apparent they were doing so in the first place. 

Spy grunts, touching his cheek hesitantly, flinching at the pain as soon as he puts pressure on it, the kind of pain that will probably hang around for days every time he has to talk or move his jaw in any way. Pity too, since Pyro is incapacitated and all but hates the Spy at the moment; there will be no signing to him, so yes, there will be talking. _‘Okay’_ he sighs, _‘I definitely deserved that.’_ Another sigh moves over his lips and he lays his head back onto the bed, trying to ignore the physical and emotional stress the world is laying on him at the moment. 

Medic continued to rush around, snatching different tools and materials from around the medical bay, not giving Spy a second glance and straight up ignoring Engineer when he tries to ask more questions. The Texan is curious, perhaps due to his lack of activeness in the field most days. Of course he is constantly looking out for his sentries but most of the time he stays behind the front lines and is little-to-none involved with the direct capture of Intel. So curiosity off the field is expected. Regardless, whatever is wrong with Pyro must be pretty bad, and Spy will be damned if anything critical happened to the Firebug. Just because he broke his heart and more than likely crushed his spirit, doesn’t mean Pyro will ever stop being the most important person to Spy; ironic as that may be 

The right hook from Engie apparently did more than originally thought as the Frenchman’s head lulls to the side and he passes out again. 

He wakes up once again about halfway through the night, feeling dizzy but limbs feeling stronger due to more than 24 hours’ worth of medicine and rest. And such is true when he notices the morphine drip is no longer connected to his arm, though the blood drip is still attached; he must have lost more blood than he thought. Everything is quiet now; the med’ bay filled with an eerie silence, though the soft yellow-light has returned to lighting the room. Spy offhandedly wonders if this softer light only appears when he is dying, or when his heart stops momentarily; but he soon tosses the very idea away when an aching pain tugs at his spine as he sits up. 

“ _Merde…_ ” Spy murmurs, digging his hand under his baklava to run his fingers through his hair. His entire body hurts, more so his face, and he soon finds out that even breathing in too deeply makes his ribcage ache. Pain, all over; any hope of successfully going out to work in a few hours is dashed with this realization. He kicks his legs off the side of the bed, having to suppress a gasp as a paroxysm of unexpected pain shoots up through him and ends by rattling around in his head and triggering yet another headache. Yeah, this is not going to be a good day.

Spy stands up with some struggle, leaning heavily on the table next to the bed and slowly pulls back the curtain separating the two sets of medical berths. Once the curtain is taken out of the picture, the image causes Spy’s heart to stop for one…two…three, for three seconds his heart does not pump and his knees go weak under him. Had he thought for even a moment that the sight would be this hard to take in, the Spy would have mentally prepared himself better. Though such as being part of an ongoing war, one would assume such a sight would be so normal to him, rather than affect him so greatly. But he is far from ready to see his little Firebug with both arms exposed and mutilated with bullet holes decorating previously burned skin that looks to have been scarred years ago, but nevertheless adds to the awful visage. Clearly out of Pyro’s need for privacy, the majority of his chem’ suit was left on, save his optical mask, which was removed; a set of wrapping bandages cover his neck and stretch partially up one of his cheeks. It is nothing Spy hasn’t seen before, Pyro with his mask off that is; he’d been around the block and knows things about his teammates that most of them never told anyone (Such as what Pyro looks like under the mask, Scout’s ADD, and Engie’s interest in a certain rocket-launching American general). 

“ _Merde…_ ” He seems to be saying that a lot as of late, but there is no question that the situation does in fact call for it. Spy finds himself on his bed again, sitting down to accommodate his weak legs and the vertigo he obtained the moment he stood up, but the emotional stab he first felt was almost worse than when Maria, the enemy Scout’s mother, had died; she had been his lover, his friend, and she had been taken away before he could even say goodbye. That’s why, that’s why he needs to keep Pyro away from him, because he cares about him, like he cared about Maria. 

Spy has to turn away though, he knows by simply assessing these injuries that they will not kill Pyro, and the Firebug will probably be out by late tomorrow, but seeing him in pain takes an emotional toll on Spy he never thought anything ever could. “No, this will be different.” His dark eyes find their way back over to the Pyro, searching the face he has seen very few times but knows well enough to know he is in pain. 

At some point Spy ends up back over next to Pyro’s berth in a chair he had drug over, gloved hand deftly stroking the other’s flippant auburn hair. The Firebug’s face is not exactly masculine, nor is it feminine, there is no defining facial hair, but a strong jawline and somewhat robust looking visage spoke to the contrary. Regardless of it all the one thing most obvious to the untrained eye are the burn scars that stretch over his chin, barely skidding the corner of his mouth, and stretching up over his left eye. Most burn scars turn pink overtime, though the one’s covering Pyro are darker and deeper than an intermediate skin burn; no, these are deep wounds that required skin grafts, which ultimately could not help, these are scars that will not fade overtime and still hurt under physical contact. What makes Spy need to turn away once again is the fact there is nothing he can do to relieve such pain; nothing he can do to make these scars go away. 

Pyro stirs and Spy does not notice with his mind stuck thinking and completely distracted, but still gently stroking his somewhat dark hair. It isn’t until Pyro’s eyes open that Spy notices he’s awoken; rich brown eyes coming open to meet the most stunning set of eyes he’s ever seen on a human, more stunning than Maria’s gorgeous blue orbs, and more unique than Sniper’s sectoral heterochromic blue-greens.  
Remarkable orange irises stare back at him, dark red-brown rings affirming Pyro’s heterochromia and making for a simply gorgeous sight. The almost peaceful moment is disturbed as those beautiful eyes narrow into an angry glare, and the second right-hook of the day connects with the not-aching side of Spy’s face which pulls his hand away from Pyro’s hair. 

Though his limbs are stinging and hurting him with every small motion, Pyro shoots off the bed and kicks Spy back towards his own bed and grabs at the curtain to pull it closed again. 

_‘I deserved that, oui, I definitely deserved that one too.’_ The Frenchman sighs, pulling himself together and straightening his shirt. For a moment he contemplates leaving well-enough alone and returning to his own business, which would most likely involve smoking through a fresh pack of cigarettes before the sun even comes up. But that idea is rapidly brushed out of his mind because before he even realizes it he’s back on Pyro’s side of the curtain and has the younger Firebug held by the shoulders, preventing him from wriggling away. 

“ _Non, non, Pyro s'il vous plaît arrêter un moment!_ ” Spy pleads quietly, moving back to grip the other’s shoulders tighter to keep him in place. Pyro gives him a pissy look but stops moving and waits for him to say something. It takes him more than a moment of mental preparation and a few deep breaths until he locks eyes with the fire-starter again, his gaze firm and unmoving but tirelessly apologetic. “I’m sorry,” He murmurs before he can even think of anything more profound to say. So far this apology is not even grazing the Pyro in any positive way, his eyebrows knotted together in anger. “I wish I had more to say but unfortunately I…cannot.” Spy’s voice is weak and he internally kicks himself for sounding so pathetic. “I only wanted to protect you…I cannot explain I…” He fades out.

 _I’m so so sorry Pyro…_

Pyro’s hand comes up flat to barley touch his hairline and then lowers his middle finger and wiggle it next to his head while the rest of his fingers stay upright, before lowering his hand. 

_‘Why?’_

Spy again can’t find the words in his mouth, unable to form a sentence his tongue flicks up to the roof of his mouth, dry in his nervousness. No this is stupid, telling Pyro is almost as bad as staying with him, but he deserves to know...but Spy isn’t about to endanger him further, he’s not going to lose him, not like he lost Maria. He just cares too much to let the light of his life live in danger as long as they’re together. 

The light of his life, yes…yes that fits quite well now. It only took a spontaneous breakup and a few near-death experiences to realize that.  
Wordlessly Spy reaches into his pocket and pushes something into the Pyro’s hands after releasing his shoulders, having retrieved it moments before the current interaction; a final goodbye…a solid one, at least. 

_The lighter…does he really think this will make up for…fuck, I hate you so much._ Pyro prevents the confusion and annoyance he feels from crossing his face, and he grips the silver box tightly in his fist. This isn’t right, it’s not; people don’t just toss other people who they care about aside, not like this. They are both mercenaries, Spy knows that, as does Pyro; so then why? Why is Spy so panicked about the entire situation when there shouldn’t be anything to worry about, not when you think about it, and in all honesty, a personal relationship can only make the team stronger together than they already are. Something inside the Pyro clicks and a renewed look crosses his features, replacing the confusion and hurt with determination. A long string of signs follow, his hands turning and weaving around one-another as a message is portrayed visibly; Spy stands silently and can only soak in the signs as they pass, both astonished by the unsurpassable speed he is signing at and moved by what said signs mean.

_‘Spy, we have been friends for a long time, and I refuse to believe that you would ever cast me aside so willingly without reason. While it seems to me you have one, you won’t tell me and it fucking hurts. I can protect myself, you can protect yourself, and together we can protect each other from any kind of outside threat. I don’t understand why you worry so much about our “relationship” as if it will be our demise. Look at Heavy and Medic; they’re probably closer to each other than anyone else on the goddamn team, and they are quite the force when paired up together on the battlefield; they are friends, and a brilliant set of mercs who have proven to be quite inseparable over the years.’_

The following pause lingers on as the Pyro flexes his now aching hands and turns around to grab at his optical mask, holding it under his arm.

_‘I understand your concern. I’m sure you can’t fathom how much I actually worry about you.’_

Spy seems taken aback at the admittance but stands his ground with crossed arms.

_‘Point is I worry a whole hell’uva lot. You having to disappear for the entire battle, disguising as the enemy team; sometimes disappearing for whole days at a time, not coming back to dinner or into the base at all. There have been nights I have waited up in my room, just waiting to hear you drag your sorry ass down the hall so then I could finally get some goddamn sleep knowing that you were at least home.’_

Pyro has moved to grab his things, Spy itching to force him back into bed because there is no way he’s cleared to leave the medical bay yet; not with the bullet wounds still fresh in his skin. Medic would be in shortly, he never leaves for very long; he will straighten the situation out and keep the Firebug in the medical bay. But for now Spy is content with letting his companion ‘talk’.

_‘I thought we were friends…Spy. You are the only one who can talk to me, the only one who understands that I’m not actually just a mute psychopath in a jumpsuit, save Engie perhaps. And I’ve taken careful measures to be as best a friend to you as possible, but I guess I’ve done something wrong. You’ve felt the need to make me trust you then in one foul, unexpected swoop you have chosen to steal away everything we had. So thank you Spy,’_

Pyro’s expression changes from one that has been slipping into sadness, to one of pure anger and dominance over the situation.

_‘Thank you that now I guess I can stop spending my days wondering where you are and how many times that goddamn BLU Pyro has charred your ass. And I can stop staying up all night wondering if you’re alright since I didn’t see you at dinner. And hey I can stop carrying this fucking lighter around,’_

Pyro flashes the silver lighter in front of Spy’s face and roughly tosses it into his grasp.

_‘Because why should I keep doing any of that? It doesn’t matter anymore I guess…since the only person I’ve ever loved clearly wants nothing to do with…’_

The sarcastic grin he shone slowly dissipates into a sad smile at the realization of what had made its way out, and his hands fall just a bit, stopping mid-sign; his eyes darting to the ground at both their feet. Spy refrains from latching onto the Firebug as he sees a single, shimmering tear slip over his scarred cheek. _Who was I kidding? People like me aren’t supposed to have friends…let alone fall in love…dammit_. He runs his bullet hole-ridden arm over his watery eyes before replacing his optical mask and look back up to the Frenchman, offhandedly noticing the antsy body language. 

He is on the verge of breaking down and Pyro can see it. _Good, because that’s at least what he deserves._

 

He won’t though; he’ll just stand there and say absolutely nothing, unable to muscle out any words in fear of losing his cool. So as Pyro pushes by him, pushing back tears from his eyes, willing himself not to cry over this douchebag; Spy does nothing. 

Medic didn’t magically appear right on cue when Pyro stormed out of the door, not coming to the rescue to keep the little Firebug in the medical bay. Nor did Heavy bound up behind him with a dead BLU Spy, relinquishing their own Spy of his worries about the enemy sneaking unseen past the defenses to kill his Pyro in his sleep. Engineer didn’t happen to show up either, claiming to have made it so Respawn is active 24-7 so that no one could die out here. 

No, none of that happens because this isn’t a fairytale, this is real life; and once again in the same goddamn medical bay as it had happened just a day or two prior, Spy is torn to pieces as he watches Pyro leave, not having accepted his sorry excuse for an apology and crying. He made the light of his life, the one person in this world who he loves and is currently making his life an emotional roller-coaster, regardless of the fact it was all Spy’s fault…he made him cry.

Pyro had stopped his tears before even leaving the room, but Spy would be damned if he told anyone how only moments after the door shut he broke down on his knees in the most undignified manner. He didn’t care, his life was becoming a wreck, despite his desperate attempts at stabilizing things. While curled up there he silently promised himself to never speak of this, whilst at the same time admitting that he could not stop himself as his body shook violently with the weight of all the stress. No this was one instance, a single instance when every façade Spy ever threw up dropped, every single function on his goddamn watch was pointless, and Spy was simply not Spy for about 15 seconds while his body physically let out the stress in waves of violent shakes, dizziness, and nausea. 

After the spout of emotional trauma has passed, Spy eagerly regains what self-image he can by straightening out his shirt and pulling on his blazer and tie. He pulls the blood drip from his arm and heads for the door, beginning to not care whether he lives or dies at the moment. And Medic is so done with all of them when he returns to an empty medical bay; a cart knocked over by the two previously occupied berths, and loose i.v.’s lying on the beds where they should be hooked into his patients’ arms. “ _Verdammt Dummkopfs._ ” He sighs exasperatedly, not even bothering to pick up the fallen cart of tools, preferring instead to sulk into his office, mumbling about how people never take doctor’s orders seriously. “You all can drop dead for all I care.”

.3.  
\----+----

“Hey Ruski, Kraut; watch your backs!” Soldier’s loud voice breaks through the sporadic booming noise of the battle. Heavy is the first to react to the American’s warning, spinning around faster than anyone thought him capable of to guard his Medic from the BLU Pyro aiming their flamethrower at them both. The Russian caught ablaze but is little-to-not affecting thanks to his partner’s Medigun trained on him, supplying a constant stream of healing vapors. The BLU firebug is mutilated by 200 dollar custom made ammunition within seconds, their body falling to the ground with a dull thud. 

Spy offhandedly notices the American’s out-of-character act of sportsmanship in warning the two members of his team which he ridiculed possibly more than anyone else. He wonders what could have caused this change in Soldier, but he wipes the thought from his mind in favor of making his way through the open gates of the BLU’s base, cloaked, fully healed since his injuries two weeks ago, and ready for anything.

Anything other than his own team’s Pyro stumbling from behind a corner, his chem’ suit torn and multiple syringes protruding from his body; none of it screamed the typical near-death visage that Spy is used to. He’s even more surprised when the BLU Medic is right behind the Firebug, jutting his blade forward into his back. No sound escapes Pyro, because none can, seeming to surprise the Medic, but not enough to restrain him as he lunges out to bring the same blade up and into Pyro’s neck, which causes a gasp followed by a wet gag. 

Spy hastily contemplates de-cloaking, and had his own personal situation been any different he would have, he would blow his cover for his Firebug any day. However, as scarlet blood begins to flow from the front air filter of Pyro’s optical mask, he concludes that there’s no hope of keeping him alive. And doing anything other than letting the situation be may alert Pyro to Spy’s faked apprehension towards their relationship and would put them in danger once again.

Why Medic has decided to so brutally attack Pyro is beyond Spy, as he watches the man-of-medicine lean in as the fire-user shudders in the last stages of a slow, painful death. He whispers something, something Spy is too angry to pick up on, and in place of his curiosity he pulls out his loaded revolver and raises his arm, still cloaked. He watches as whatever life the Pyro’s wide goggles hold dissipates and his shaking body, wracked with tremors thanks to the pain, finally can stop shaking as the temporary death allows just as temporary comfort, and Pyro dies with the Medic’s blade still lodged in his throat. No sooner than the moment Pyro’s lifeless corpse hits the floor does a single shot ring out and the BLU Medic’s own corpse joins Pyro’s in a growing pool of blood. “I wish I ‘ad time to torture you like you did my little Firebug,” Spy hisses as he bends down to nudge the dead German’s head with the barrel of his revolver. “It iz what you deserve, and trust me I would be ‘appy to bring you ze upmost amount of pain.” The mental images of the Medic begging to be killed at the hands of Spy, claiming that he can’t take the pain and he would rather die than have the Frenchman torture him any longer, flash across his mind. “But,” The sadistic grin he gained sometime during his short fantasy disappears and he pulls himself upright once again. He holds himself tall, remarking the great feat of having not gotten more than a drop of blood on the sleeve of his suit. “I am not so petty.” 

Spy leaves the bodies for Respawn to pick up within the coming minutes and continues his infiltration of the enemy base, the inquiry as to what caused the confrontation before lingering in the back of his mind. Though the chance to sap BLU Engineer’s level two sentry is a welcomed opportunity, however this momentary satisfaction is overrun as the Engineer turns and fires two shotgun bullets through his shoulder and side; not the best aim, but effective regardless. Spy groans, feeling the bullet up and under his ribcage, and raises his revolver to place a well-aimed shot to the Texan’s head. He drops dead next to his equally dead sentry. 

“F…fuck…” He coughs out a measurable amount of blood into his gloved hand, cursing his luck; the Engineer’s bullet must have tagged him in the lung. Perfect. He’s good at his job, so he doesn’t stick around long and sneaks away; disguising himself as the Engineer he had just killed. 

About then the BLU’s Medic runs out of Respawn, a displeased look on his face; Spy fondly remembers the kill shot bullet hole on his forehead only minutes ago. The German takes notice of Spy, disguised as his Engineer; and when he sees Engie with a few bullet wounds he takes pity and turns the Medigun on him. ‘Idiot.’ Spy internally grins. Thankfully, the Medigun’s healing fumes show no favoritism and heal him quickly, in term healing the BLU Engineer he is disguised as. “Thanks partner,” He puts on this Engineer’s signature smile and tips his helmet. The Medic nods before running off, the look of anger and annoyance not leaving his face.

Finally Spy reaches the intel’ room, corner-checking twice over before snatching the case and hurrying on his way. 

**‘THE ENEMY INTELLIGENCE HAS BEEN CAPTURED’**

The loudspeakers scream to the RED team just as Spy de-cloaks and hurries towards the exit. Foolishly he has to double back the way he came, back past the sapped sentry and where the BLU Engineer body was a few moments ago. Apparently the world doesn’t want this mission to end well because said Engineer runs around the corner, newly respawned with his shotgun up, BLU Soldier right along with him; they exchange a few quick words but nothing Spy can hear.

“Say goodbye maggot.” The Soldier grins, hefting his rocket launcher up onto his shoulder. Tomorrow Spy will make sure the Soldier is killed as painfully as possible for this, slow painful deaths each time he gets the chance. He smiles, enjoying the thought already but not looking forward to his upcoming death. Suddenly a blinking grenade tumbles over to the two BLU members, landing right between them; BLU Soldier pushes his Engie away and explodes only a second later, his blood showering BLU Engineer who has stumbled into the wall nearby. Said Texan panics, looking mortified even with goggles obscuring his eyes; he gets his footing and darts down a corresponding hallway just as RED Demoman and Pyro run out from a place unseen. The Scott grins smugly at the Frenchman, and Pyro seems smug enough having air-blasted the grenades into the ideal placement. 

“I wasn’t expectin’ the otha’ one ta’ run, but I take what I can git.” Demo concludes, taking a long swig of Scrumpy and resting an elbow on the fire-user next to him. Pyro’s right hand brushes up twice against his left hand fingers, not moving his left hand. Then he clenches his left hand into a fist and brush over it twice, flat-palmed, with his right hand. 

_‘Easy Enough.’_

Spy questions how normal the Firebug seems, wondering if it’s just part of some plan to get payback; however the younger RED team member never seems to hold a grudge. He subconsciously wonders if Pyro has managed to already forgive him, but his hope is dashed when he realizes that he wouldn’t even forgive himself. 

After a small wave to Spy and Demo the fire-wielder cracks his shoulder joints, hefts up his 87-pound flamethrower and follows after the fleeting Engineer down the hall. “Aye, you should be getting’ dat back ta’ base b’for ya’ get it lost don’t’cha think?” Demoman smirks and quickly loads his grenade launcher before running ahead of Spy to clear the way, Spy hearing faint sounds of explosions and the maniac’s laughing as he runs out. 

As Spy claims victory for RED Team he can’t find himself to truly enjoy himself, their first win in a few days and the person the team has to thank for it disappears into thin air, preferring not to join in the drinking that is apt to happen. 

Pyro doesn’t drink, but chooses to take a walk outside in the early darkness of the night, within the boundaries of the RED base he strolls, his mind working slowly and lingering on the battle and noting how goddamn cold it is outside. Nothing in particular about the battle, nothing in particular until they remember the confrontation with the BLU Soldier and Engineer and getting to air blast one of Demo’s grenades and save Spy. He stops, the words in his mind hanging over him. He did help save Spy didn’t he? Without even a second thought Pyro had helped the Frenchman, and…to be honest, doesn’t regret that he did. A small smirk lights up the Firebug’s masked features, finally realizing that even though he had hurt him, it doesn’t matter so much.

 _He’s a douchebag I know, and, well, according to him he doesn’t want to be friends._

Pyro sighs and rubs his head through the mask, wondering why; why can’t he just hold a grudge, just hate Spy and ignore him and hang out with Demoman more often. But apparently that’s not possible, because the only hatred Pyro can find within him is for himself. Hatred because Pyro doesn’t hate Spy now, after the initial shock and anger of it all, he just doesn’t and the fire-starter cannot explain it. 

_I could never hate him…_

His thoughts betray him with that simple statement, and he stops walking again and rest against the wall. Why can’t things go back to how they were, before it all, before Spy decided to be an ass? 

_Things were alright then…here I thought I finally had someone to actually call a friend. Guess not. But I don’t know why, I still don’t get it and I think I deserve an answer. I haven’t asked Engie about it though; perhaps he has an answer…_

Pyro smiles to himself again, remarking Engineer’s seemingly infinite knowledge with friendly adoration. Something out of the corner of his eye startles Pyro and reflexively he slips behind the nearest corner, just in time to watch RED Spy walk by the opening he had been resting in, a half-burned cigarette pursed between his lips. Thankfully he hadn’t seen the fire-user as he continues down his path, headed towards the boarders of the base.

Spy could swear he just heard something but disregards it as more yelling coming from inside the RED base and blows out another puff of smoke with a strange grace, one which Pyro notices from behind the wall. Eventually he stops, standing on one of the hills overlooking the battlefield, still sheltered in RED territory but close enough to the perimeters to be considered dangerous. Small puffs of smoke escape his lips, the white smoke cloud mixing with the cloud that his breathe makes when it meets the cold winter air. 

Not a minute after Spy settles his shoulder against a wood fence overlooking the battlefield does a freezing wind tear through the area, ruffling the saboteur’s suit but otherwise not affecting him. The cold air hits Pyro, whipping through his chem’ suit and bringing a shiver from the little Firebug. It is far too cold for his liking, regardless that it is in-fact, the middle of winter. 

At some point the Pyro considers going out to be with Spy, perhaps have an actual conversation with him for the first time in almost two weeks, but it must have been something in the way Spy blew his smoke rings that made the Firebug turn tail and return to within the base. He guesses Spy probably wouldn’t want to talk anyway, most likely he is more interested in his smoke rings.

Spy sighs after breathing in a deep lungful of air, the chill lingering in his throat and the smell of winter holding up in his nose. It is a nice night despite the glaciate cold, and that makes it a tad bit harder for the Frenchman to blow proper smoke rings. The wide blanket of stars in the sky on this clear night compensate immensely for the temperature. He silently tips his metaphorical hat to Sniper with a slight grin on his lips; he had argued with the Australian back in October about the relevance of stars and how worthy they are to stare at, and was all-too-eager to disprove him. But he realizes his mistake and makes a mental note to apologize to Sniper later.

The smirk he is wearing doesn’t fade when his mind drifts to Pyro, and his general dislike of the cold; it isn’t good on his flamethrower, freezes up the malleable pipes and what-not, so it is understandable, but it was always quiet the sight; seeing the Firebug get fussy about the weather (The behaviors is always misleading when one knows of Pyro’s desire to see snow) and end up pouting in the corner with his flamethrower by his side. Even with a full-body suit on, Spy usually finds such quirks in the Pyro…cute. An unfamiliar word, but appropriate in regards to the Firebug since just about everything he does is admirable or cute in some way; Spy concludes it’s got to do with his large goggles and the normal grouping of large ‘eyes’ to the word cute.

A mental image of a movie night with Pyro flashes across his mind; the younger mercenary sat cross-legged on the floor, since Scout was sprawled out on the couch taking up more space than he needed, and Heavy took up the rest of the space (which was still less space than Scout was using). Spy had stood behind the projector smoking, watching the movie but focusing more on his little Firebug at the time. Every time something scary would happen Pyro would flinch and sometimes shot his hands up to cover his goggles; Scout poked fun, calling him a baby (Heavy had shouted at Scout just a moment later because he himself was scarred), but Spy had just found it adorable.

Another image of Spy sitting with Pyro at Christmas just a month ago makes him smile; side-by-side and opening gifts, Spy having to place gifts in the Firebug’s lap because he was too preoccupied with giving everyone else their gifts. The memory brings a welcomed tickle to his heart and he relishes in it, being able to reminisce. A faint hope passes over his heart, a hope that points out that at any time he can find Pyro and pour his heart out, sure it would be un-dignifying, but he may get his Firebug back. 

“Heh, yeah…” He sighs again, his hot breathe beating against the cold air creates another cloud of fog. No, no he can’t have Pyro back, because he left him high-and-dry because he wasn’t going to let the fire-user get killed because of him, he isn’t going to allow a repeat of Maria…no, not again. 

His body itches to do something and that it does, he throws his part-way finished cigarette off the hill below, watching it fall to the frozen dirt with a scowl on his features, and turns on his heels back towards the RED base; it is too cold outside anyway.

.4.  
\----+----

Another day, another battle only a week later brought something unexpected; the BLU Soldier barely leaving his Engineer’s side save for maybe a short 30-minute period of time when he was rocket jumping on the front lines as expected. 

Spy sighs and slips behind a corner adorning the enemy Engineer and his sentry. The third time, the third-goddamn-time he’s gotten back behind the Texan, expecting him to be alone and un-expecting, he’s had Soldier guarding him. One time Spy had not been so lucky as to have a hiding spot and ended up with a rocket embedded in his chest and a trip through Respawn. 

Still cloaked, the saboteur leans back against the wall, muscles exhausted from being so tensed in such frigid weather, and his Electro Sapper sits in his hand uselessly. 

Or perhaps not so uselessly…

Spy straightens his tie and throws up a disguise, the BLU Scout; it would be suspicious that the Bostonian isn’t on the front lines going for intel., if it wasn’t due to the fact that both Scouts go through Respawn at least twice every 45 minutes, so the boy running through the area from Respawn is far from uncommon. “Yo helmet heads,” Spy, disguised as BLU Scout, slurs as he runs out from his hiding spot. The two older BLU’s seem surprised to say the least, but Engie offers a kind smile, Soldier…not so much. “’Ey, ain’t you ‘sposed to be, ya’ know,” Spy acknowledges Soldier, motioning towards the middle of the fight. “Out there?” 

“Well Solly’s hanging back here with me today, I’ve been havin’ some problems with the enemy Spy.” Engineer steps in front of the taller mercenary and answers for him. The mention of his name makes Spy smile to himself; somewhere within he is quite proud to have scarred the mechanic into needing his Soldier around, while also wondering how on Earth he got the general to agree to stay back with him. “Seems the yelle’ belly has been worked into a tizzy as of late; saps my sentries twice as much as normal, usually leaves me bleedin’ but not dead.” The Texan sighs, reaching under his hardhat to run his gloved hand over his head.

Soldier finds his voice and elbows his companion aside, “As if I didn’t dislike that wine-lovin’-pussy-footin’-snake enough, he had to go and disrespect a member of my regiment!” He shakes his shovel in a display of his anger. “So I’m not leaving until that bastard is done messing with Engie.” With that the American returns to marching through the general perimeter, staying close enough to where it makes it more difficult for Spy to eliminate them both. 

_Dammit, ‘zis is not exactly beneficial circumstances..._ Spy curses himself for diving into such a situation. “Heh, Spy’s are a dime-a-dozen back-stabbing scumbags, like I’ve said before. Easy ta’ kill, can’t believe you and your sentries can’t handle ‘im.” Out of the corner of his eye, Spy notices Soldier parade down another hallway, offering a limited window of time; one, however he doesn’t want to risk at the time-being. “Whateva’ man, catch’a later.” He hefts Scout’s bat into his fist and begins, at the Bostonian’s trademark speed, in the direction of the exit, already calculating what hallway to take to swing back around and grab their intel. 

Before he can even get out of sight, the Engineer’s walkie-talkie buzzes with the typical mid-battle chaos, which causes Spy to freeze in his steps and turn around, something an actual Scout would do. 

_Chhhhgt…’Need a Dispenser here!’…chhhhgt_

That was the actual BLU Scout. 

Spy’s pulse freezes and he curses his luck; Engineer whips around firstly, throwing a glare his way, “ **Soldier, RED Spy is in the base!** ” The Texan lunges for his shotgun, stowed behind his sentry along with his toolbox. Soldier bounds out from the hallway he had begun patrolling, pulling out hi rocket launcher and loading it quickly. 

Okay now this is just sloppy, Spy sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he un-disguises, revealing his pressed red suit; a fresh cigarette finds its way between his lips. A rocket flies in his direction and just barley misses him, colliding with the nearby wall and creating a nice hole. “Gentlemen, it ‘as been fun but I must bid you _adieu_.” Spy says quickly and proceeds to cloak and slips back past Engineer. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Soldier growls, firing his rocket launcher again. Somehow he miraculously fires in the right direction and the rocket explodes at Spy’s feet, rendering his equipment, and his legs, useless. The RED mercenary falls over onto his face, flashing in and out of existence thanks to his malfunctioning watch. 

“ _Fils de pute…_ ” The Frenchman groans, turning onto his back and gaining a nice look at his mutilated legs and the shrapnel stuck in his back, one large rip of metal protruding out of the front of his midsection. A shotgun barrel is in his face within seconds, the smell of gunpowder clawing uncomfortably in his nose. 

The Engineer smirks, “It’s been too long since I got the chance ta’ shoot ‘ya Spy,” He cocks the shotgun and nudges the enemy Spy’s face with the barrel. Spy only grins back, a few drops of blood falling through his clenched teeth and over his lips. 

There’s a loud bang and it gets dark, and a few minutes later Spy wakes up in Respawn with a considerable headache as he lifts his head to stand up. “Oh…fuck,” The French term got stuck in his throat so the English term slips out with uncharacteristic harshness as he rubs his sore head. Sniper looks over from where he is stretching out his limbs, newly respawned and sore.

“Oi wasn’t expectin’ you here. The BLU Pyro git’cha sneaking around?” The Australian smirks and begins to re-assemble his rifle with an ease that is second-nature to him. 

“Non,” Spy contemplates making up some grand story, but decides he’d rather not add lying to his own teammates to his list of unappealing quirks. “BLU Soldier disable me with one of ‘is accursed rockets, and I am guessing ‘ze Engineer shot me in ‘ze ‘ead, I do not remember exactly.” He rubs his head again, despising the far-too-prevalent pain in his skull. Sniper just keeps smirking until he looks up and the smile falls from his face.

“Oi’d say mate,” He says speechlessly, standing up straight with his partially assembled rifle in hand. Spy gives him a look, one that tells him to elaborate further on the vague statement; but Sniper just motions to the Frenchman’s head, deftly running his fingers through his own dark hair. Lighting another cigarette, Spy is ready to brush of the weird and sudden change in his behavior until he feels a warm wetness soaking into his baklava right above his eyes. The same feeling slips down his face and over the crook of his nose, and upon inspection, he wipes the drop off his face and sees the blood on his glove; his sight goes dizzy and he’s suddenly very aware of the lack of feeling in most of his body.

Spy sighs, blowing out a puff of smoke before stubbing the cigarette out; he curses their buggy Respawn system before the world goes dark again.

He wakes up again, this time he checks immediately for a bullet hole in his forehead and finds nothing, thank god. That doesn’t stop the aching headache from wracking his cerebellum. Scout is sitting on the corresponding bench, well, he’s being held down on the corresponding bench, by Heavy. “Nah’ man just lemme shoot myself! C’mon Doc you need to go heal the guys out front!” The boy struggles against the Russian man’s grip around his lithe frame, and kicks out at Medic in front of him, who holds a large pair of tweezers in his hand. Blood slips down and around Scout’s bare arm from the multiple bullet holes in his shoulder, and Medic braces himself on the youth’s shoulder and moves in with his tweezers. A shriek follows as well as a few plinks in the otherwise silent Respawn room and Scout is finally released by Heavy, “Fuck!” He flinches when he moves his arm, a few more drops of blood falling from the bullet wounds. 

Medic stows his tweezers in the pocket of his white coat and grabs for his Medigun, “You are velcome Scout.” He smirks, hefting the health pack onto his back and moving towards the door with his Russian partner in pursuit. 

Scout mumbles something about stupid, no-good German doctors and turns to acknowledge the Spy. “Respawn’s got a bug man, I’m tired of it leavin’ me with these annoying-ass bullets lodged in ma’ freakin’ body. Hell it missed the fuckin’ kill-shot to your head. I’m tellin’ ya’ RED needs ta’ re-amp the system or some shit.” The Bostonian growls at the pain in his arm as he goes for his aluminum bat, the one that had been unceremoniously tossed onto the floor in the process of being restrained by Heavy for Medic to remove the bullets.

Silently Spy finds himself agreeing with the, usually un-agreeable, youth and shrugs whilst pulling out a fresh cigarette from his slim silver case. He offers a half-hearted wave to Scout as he eagerly jumps out of Respawn with his bat over his head and ready to bonk some heads. The saboteur leans forward on the bench, resting both elbows on his knees and raising his cigarette to his lips. 

Scout is right, Respawn has been working for years and is in serious need of an upgrade, or something along those lines; he’s not the only one sick of Respawn’s lack of precision as of late, it has affected everyone one way or another.

The internal systems start to whir again, seemingly harder than normal; Soldier and Pyro are in the Respawn room the next moment, Soldier still looking battered but otherwise okay. “Dammit,” He mumbles to the ground as he sits up, yanking Pyro up by the back of his chem’ suit in the process. “Can’t say we didn’t try recruit.” The American admits with a tone no one has heard him use in a long time, regarding the Firebug with a nod before grabbing his rocket launcher and marching out. 

Pyro shakes his head for a moment, shifting the optical mask just slightly into a more comfortable arrangement. “What exactly did you two try?” Spy asks quizzically, blowing out a bit of smoke from between his lips. Pyro turns to look at him, seemingly startled by his presence; but they raise his hand and finger spells a short message.

_‘Tried to grab intel. Didn’t work so well.’_

The Frenchman’s lips twitch up into a cocky grin, thankful that he isn’t the only one to have failed at that very task this day. “Hm,” He stands up, his knee joints popping quietly. Pyro isn’t mad, he actually seems to be in a pleasant mood as usual, and Spy thanks god for the Firebug’s magnanimous disposition, it takes away from his guilt. “Why don’t you try a different approach? I am sure Soldier’s approach was far from affective.” He crosses his arms and stands in front of the door. Pyro cocks his head whilst standing up, looking for elaboration. “Come with me, I can’t get past ‘zer Engineer and Soldier.” Spy takes a few steps back towards the fire-user, blowing out more spoke to the side. “I could greatly use your ‘elp.”

For the first time in weeks, Spy openly talks to Pyro, and it makes the little Firebug grin as he snatches his flamethrower and steps up to the taller mercenary. He throws a thumbs up at Spy and as soon as a new propane tank is hooked up to Pyro’s flamethrower, the two completely opposite classes are trudging out towards the BLU base. 

The sounds of the battle slowly fade as they both run through an unnoticed entrance into the enemy base; Pyro jumps through first, corner checking quickly before motioning Spy in after. The base is quiet; the fire-user vaguely remembers that cold, empty night just a month ago whilst saving Spy when it was just as eerily quiet. His eyes turn, hidden thankfully by the tinted goggles, to look over the RED Spy and his smile is unnoticed behind the optical mask. 

At some point Spy grabs at Pyro’s shoulder straps and yanks him back, pressing them both into the wall; he cloaks himself in a puff of red smoke out of habit but doesn’t let go of the fire-user. The enemy Heavy bounds past the two REDs but stops when his minigun scrapes the ground. He makes a sound of disapproval and looks down to inspect his gun for damage, running a large hand over the smooth black metal. Spy un-cloaks and puts his index finger over his lips in a universal motion of _‘quiet’_ and begins to sneak over to the mammoth like Russian. Pyro watches with a form of fascination at Spy’s unfathomable tactical reticence, admiring every way he moves to avoid any sporadically placed clutter that would make noise and give away his position to the Heavy. 

A butterfly knife embeds itself into the BLU Heavy’s back and he is dead without a sound other than his massive body hitting the ground. Spy reaches down to retrieve his knife but doesn’t notice the BLU Medic turn the corner to see his partner dead and the doer of the deed still standing there; Pyro does however. And before the German can get within range to use his Übersaw, a stream of flames is clinging to his long white coat and charring his pale skin and leads to his inevitable death a mere few yards from his Russian partner. 

Spy turns, startled by the sound of a flamethrower going off, the only sound a Spy is afraid of, expecting to find the enemy Pyro firing at him; but instead finds his little Firebug standing over the charred remains of the enemy Medic. If it is at all possible with a complete gas mask on, he beams, and throws a quick thumbs-up to the saboteur who has returned to his side. “’Zank you Pyro.” Spy holds in the proud smile in exchange for a thankful nod and moves onwards down the hall. 

Pyro proves to be considerably less stealthy than Spy himself, trudging behind the saboteur somewhat noisily; as to be expected from somebody whose main offensive weapon is an 87 pound flamethrower. Luckily neither of them are detected as they weave through the seemingly endless hallways of the BLU base, having no more trouble with the enemy team. Spy stops the Pyro again, but this time doesn’t throw him into a wall, but rather holds his arm out to stop the shorter fire-user. He cloaks himself quietly and moves out from behind the wall, not lowering his hand from in front of Pyro. 

The Firebug knows his hand is still there and sighs, everyone on the team thinks he’s a goddamn child and sometimes it gets old, but…

Spy’s hand rests on Pyro’s shoulder, most likely for his own benefit, just to know the Firebug is still there. Another hidden smile curls Pyro’s lips up; he’d make an exception for Spy. “Where is ‘zere Engineer…” He hears Spy murmur to himself, and ducks from under his hand to take a look at the seemingly empty Intel. room. “Right, well then,” Spy strides forward with a smirk, stowing his Ambassador away and moving silently across the room, other than a careless click when the heel of his shoes meet the ground. 

**‘YOUR INTELLIGENCE HAS BEEN CAPTURED!’**

The RED intercoms yell, causing Pyro and Spy to look at each other confusedly; someone else was in their base and got their intelligence. A renewed haste takes over them both and Spy grabs at the intelligence and nudges the firebug towards the door. 

**‘THE ENEMY INTELLIGENCE HAS BEEN CAPTURED!’**

They both run, faster than any other time during the battle; Pyro trades his flamethrower for the flare gun that’s stored at his side, the weight of the gun allowing the Firebug to run much faster. Spy runs the possibilities through his mind; who could have passed them up and gone for their Intel.? And why didn’t RED Engie, who Spy knows was stationed with the Intelligence, defend it. The clear answer gnaws at the back of his mind and he slips out his Ambassador again just in case.

Pyro, being Pyro, wants to rush ahead and stop following Spy’s, now overt silence. _Really Spy, like literally everyone knows we have the Intel. so let’s just fucking run and- fuck!_

A small patch of the BLU Demoman’s sticky bombs greets them at the exit of the base and Pyro nearly steps on one, would it not be for Spy so considerately grabbing his suspenders again and jerking Pyro back onto his ass. “You need to be more watchful Firebug, now come along before-“ 

“Before this?” The BLU Sniper grabs Spy’s shoulder and spins him around, and before the saboteur can do anything there’s a Kikuri through his chest and a toothy grin covering the Australian’s face. Spy pulls out his own blade and swings his arm forward in an uncharacteristic tizzy, just barely putting a nice slice into the Sniper’s midsection. The taller man does not release his grip and snatches the small butterfly knife from the Frenchman’s hand, tossing it aside casually with an empty clatter on the floor. He twists the knife impossibly further through Spy’s chest, turning the blade sideways and pulling a pained groan through his clenched teeth. 

Pyro gets to his feet rather clumsily and holds up the bright red flare gun, denied access to the trigger as the enemy Sniper holds a half-conscious Spy out in front of him as a human shield. “Oi bet you weren’t expectin’ me around.” His grin seemingly widens as he holds up the RED briefcase in his hand. True to the statement, the last thing Pyro had expected was to see the Sniper out of his coop, let alone making a grab for the Intelligence. He has never dealt with the Australian much, not even the Sniper on their own team, the chance or reason has never come up and Sniper isn’t too adept with communicating verbally as it is; Pyro can only chuckle at the idea of the bushman trying to decipher his ASL and eventually getting angry and leaving. 

The BLU team member finishes off Spy by dragging his Kikuri up through his torso to rip into one of his lungs and heart before dropping the saboteur unceremoniously on the floor in front of Pyro. (In fact he doesn’t die until about a minute after he is dropped and can only watch the fuzzy shapes of his Firebug and the dammed bushman, desperately trying to move in any way, to get the attention off Pyro; all in vain) 

The Firebug grabs the BLU briefcase from Spy’s unmoving grasp and clutches it in his free hand while keeping the flare gun pointed at the freakishly tall man. “Wha’are you gonna do ya’ mute psychopath? Remember oi can put myself out pretty easily,” He jostles the piss-filled container latched to his belt. Pyro suddenly misses the Sniper on his own team; considerably more polite even on the battlefield, never resorts to petty name-calling, and would’ve killed Pyro and Spy as quickly and efficiently as possible.

The Sniper steps forward, every ounce of his considerable intimidation going into towering more than 6 and a half feet over the 5 foot 5 inch Firebug. His Kikuri is pressed against Pyro’s neck with just enough force to feel the sharp tip through the thick rubber of the optical mask. Pyro’s eyes turn to slits behind the dark goggles and his leg kicks out to smash the jar of piss at the enemy Sniper’s hip, the Kikuri flies away from his throat in surprise; Pyro is no pushover, he won’t be beat down this time. _Ha I’m better than you anyway you Australian fuck._

Chaos ensues.

Engineer began pacing about 5 minutes ago, ignoring Soldier’s request for him to relax and the assurance (while shouted) that Pyro was okay. But everyone in the room lets out a silent sigh of relief, save for Engie, who outright _yee-haw’d_ when Pyro shuffled into the RED Intelligence holding both briefcases and looking absolutely horrible, but well enough to clumsily manage both cases of Intelligence into one arm and offer a thumbs-up with the other. 

RED Sniper quirks an eyebrow behind his glasses, noticing the oddly familiar hat Pyro flips up onto his head after handing over the briefcases to Soldier. He smirks, fondly imagining the little Firebug beating the ever-loving shit out of his counterpart marksman and taking his hat just to laugh about it later. 

“Good job partner, that must’a been awfully tricky. ‘Specially gettin’ our Intel. back from that enemy Sniper. That rat had a bullet in my head and the briefcase in hand before I could even blink.” He offers one of those looks over to the RED Sniper that says _‘No offense.’_ to which Sniper profoundly tips his hat to with a nonchalant smile. 

Pyro throws his gaze around the room once, deciding Spy mustn’t have respawned yet and offers the Engineer a short explanation in regards to the situation and how Spy was probably the only reason he made it into BLU’s base, let alone got back with the Intel. It doesn’t seem to matter too much that the Frenchman had indeed helped a considerable amount, for everyone applauds Pyro’s efforts and parades the Firebug through the RED base.

About halfway through the base, on their way to the makeshift bar for celebratory drinks, Pyro slips away from the shouting, cheering group without a second glance from anyone. He smiles to himself and turns in the direction of his room, completely ready to cool off and get some rest; however, at some point he turns around and heads in the opposite direction and away from the personal quarters.

_I’m just going to make sure he Respawns alright, then I’ll go to my bunk..._

Pyro nods in assurance to himself, placing kinship for a team member at fault for the worried flutter in his chest. _Respawn’s been buggy anyway, better to be too careful than have something go unnoticed._

Outside the large sliding doors of Respawn Pyro looks around, not seeing anyone around, and within the enclosed room in front of him he hears a soft beeping and the whir of machines as they work. It seems like too long as he stands there, moves to resupply to retrieve his flamethrower, then returns to the sliding doors and leans against the wall. His breath is soft, but more clearly audible having to go through the air filter of his optical mask, creating a steady beat as he waits. After a minute or so, Pyro’s foot begins tapping on the ground but the Firebug barely notices; his mind is too busy lavishing in the old familiar feeling of true, appreciated success. 

It was all because of Spy, Pyro knows but will not admit to himself, that he is so pleased; because capturing the enemy Intel. with Spy had been a hazy reenactment of a near past when they were friends, a better time, as it may. Finally, _fucking finally_ , Respawn lets loose a slow hissing followed by the hydraulic steam sound of the sliding doors opening as the metal retracts. Looking better than Pyro cares to admit, Spy struts out whilst straightening his tie, a neutral look covering his features as he shakes off the haze of Respawn. “Pyro…” A small flutter in the Firebug’s heart as a thin-lipped smile throws off his not-giving-a-damn look, all because of him. He raises his hand and give the saboteur a small wave hello, thanking the gas mask for what seems like the millionth time for covering the goofy grin on the Firebug’s face. 

Though as soon as Spy’s grin appears it is gone with a cough, replaced with a hesitant look that is mostly covered by his veil of typical smugness. “’Zank you for checking on me…” His expression contorts again, one evident of a person restraining a smile or laugh; weather that be for reasons unknown or because the Spy has proven to be a straight-up weirdo sometimes. “I should go,” Spy manages a harsh tone and a stern look and shoves past the Firebug, the one who waited so patiently for his return, and trudges up the stairs; towards his room, most likely. 

The welcoming warmth in Pyro’s chest fades away after Spy is gone, and he makes his way upstairs as well, pulling his flamethrower along to be cleaned. He wants to smile and be happy in general, honestly, but it has become more and more difficult to do so; the fact that Spy has told him straight up that he no longer desires any affiliation has taken an emotional toll. Pyro hasn’t complained, he’s not petty enough to hold a grudge, and whatever Spy wanted…he was going to give it to him.

 _You are…something Spy I give you that_. Pyro chuckles to himself, kicking a stray pebble that lay in the walkway. _Whatever your deal is I’ve stopped caring…_ That smirk switches quickly to a contemplative scowl. _Yeah, sure I have._ He wouldn’t admit to himself that he just waited for 10 goddamn minutes for Spy to Respawn, or that infiltrating the BLU base with Spy had been the most fun he’d had on the battlefield, or at all, in a while. _It’s not my decision anyway; I mean I was perfectly content with Spy, happy, but he’s the one that ruined that not me._ Pyro stops halfway up the stairs on a landing, setting his flamethrower down and sitting next to it before sighing. _I once said I’d do anything for him…why did I say that…_ The sudden realization brings about a spark in the Firebug, and he is angry within the limited time it takes to process the thought. _I told him…I fucking told him I’d do anything for him…fuck!_ Pyro growls low in his throat and turns to jab his left fist into the wall in anger. It had been stupid at the time, to promise something so vague and to have truly meant it, which the Firebug definitely had. It was a spur-of-the-moment admittance, one that hasn’t proved to have any significance up until this point; until now when that simple statement has turned a new stone, one beginning to make Pyro question how okay he is with Spy being such a douchebag, and he hates it so-fucking-much.

_I fucking hate you._

The thought barely makes its way through the Firebug’s mind before a blaring alarm sounds through the RED base, strange because the day is over and Respawn is in shut down mode. Pyro jolts and ends up on his feet, hefting the flamethrower up into his hands and flipping on the burner at the front. 

**-SECURITY BREACH; BLU SPY IS IN THE BASE!-**

This is it, his worst nightmare coming true and he just stormed off to his room like a toddler. Spy firstly jumps off his bed and fumbles to load his revolver before throwing open his door and looking up and down the hallway. A red colored light bathes the hallway with a headache-inducing strobe affect. 

In the mess hall, the rest of the team scurries for their weapons, but no one makes a leap to leave the room. Medic throws a concerned look at Heavy and around to Engineer, “Respawn isn’t online at this hour…I don’t vant anyone…vell,” His gaze slips back to his large Russian friend and he gently reaches out to pat the mammoth-like arm. “I vill not have anyone dying.” His voice falters into a worried tone, a tone almost no one would ever expect to hear out of the stoic doctor, and because of that fact it worries everyone within earshot. 

“Oi don’t know why that wanker’s in our base, but I sure as hell ain’t lettin’ our Spook or our Firebug get killed because I was too worried about me’self.” Unexpectedly Sniper pushes past the rest of the group, fixing his hat firmly on his head and yanking the kikuri from it sheath at his waist. “Oi’ll go get ‘im, some of ya’ stay here, especially you Cyclops; don’t need ‘ja blowing ya’self up. Medic stay here or at least stick with Heavy, Engie stay here and make sure the kid don’t go runnin’ off.” The sudden show of command had even Soldier standing back with a hand on his chin in contemplative impression. “The rest a’ ya’ do as pleased, but don’t bloody die alright.” With that the Australian trudges out the door, more than ready to slash the throat of the Spy who dares to threaten his team.

Almost across the base, RED Spy runs through the hallways trying desperately to find his Pyro before the other Spy does; the length of each walkway seeming to grow exponentially longer and more confusing to navigate in his haste. 

Pyro is not in such a hurry as he gingerly, and precisely places each step as he moves along, flame exhaust lit but gas valve not open yet. Aside from the initial alarm there are no other sounds in the eerily quiet base, only a red strobe light that reflects awkwardly into the Firebug’s goggles giving him quite a headache. What could have stirred the enemy Spy into their base is completely beyond the Firebug and it bothers him; the BLU Spy has been known to sneak into the base after curfew many times before, usually some petty act of assassination on the RED Sniper, or often times to acquire personal information. But he had been warned against it after the last attempt at Sniper’s life, being told another infiltration would result in the Frenchman’s untimely death. The warning proved to have been beneficial, for the enemy Spy hadn’t been in the RED base after curfew for almost an entire year.

Obviously that time of supposed assurance is over, and a terror strikes up within Pyro’s heart when he hears the click of expensive foreign dress shoes in a corresponding hallway. His pulse races and suddenly the full body chem’ suit is 300 times hotter and the base is making a whole lot more startling noises as he walks. Pyro stops, pressing his back against the wall near the corner of a turn in the hallway, he breathes out heavily through the respirator of the optical mask and sneak a look around the corner. 

Sure enough the BLU Spy de-cloaks about that moment, a kunai clenched in his palm and all attentiveness plastered on his features. Pyro’s breath hitches quietly, a sudden sense of dread paralyzes his extremities; the question of if he should or shouldn’t attack gnaws at the back of his head. He turns back away from the corner and leans back more fully against the wall again, allowing himself a few breathes of mental preparation. _For fucks sake why is he here…fuuuuuuck!_ The Firebug groans in exasperation, far from desiring to deal with the enemy saboteur’s bullshit today. Deciding it is better to burn the fucker to a crisp, Pyro grips his flamethrower tightly; subconsciously giving the weapon he built from scratch all the trust he can muster, just as much if not more than how Heavy trusts Sasha. 

In a quick-fire decision Pyro flips back towards the corner but the element of surprised is drained from the plan as he comes face-to-face with the enemy Spy, one who is grinning in a similar way as the RED Spy does, only much more sinisterly. _“Bonjour mon ami._ ” 

Reflexes take over and the Pyro jumps backwards out of knifing range; it is time for the fight of flight instinct to decide what the hell to do, and apparently fight comes through for him and the Firebug lights the area up with a dangerous whip of flames. The Spy dodges once around, and Pyro follows with his flamethrower on full blast, charging forward a bit to try to trap the enemy in his flames. None of his attempts seem to be catching the Spy, who continuously evades the dangerous gas-fuelled flames.

Fog covers his goggles for a moment, but it is a moment just long enough to miss the Spy again as he dodges the flames and jumps around to his side. His goggles are then very purposefully covered by the hand of a certain Frenchman. “Nice try ‘zere little one, but I would ‘ave thought you would make it a challenge.” Searing pain plagues Pyro’s body for a few moments before most of it goes numb, save for a spot right in the center of his stomach that burns painfully. Unable to acknowledge any kind of feeling in his fingers, Pyro loses his grip on the flamethrower handle and it clanks unceremoniously onto the ground. His numbed hands fumble to clutch gingerly at the new stab wound in his stomach, coughing strenuously and falling to his knees. In the end he is slumped up against the wall, barely hanging onto consciousness as rivers of blood pool around the Firebug from the deep stab wound penetrating his stomach, and going in far enough to have partially dissected the nerve ends around the spine. It fucking hurts but at the same time it is numb and Pyro can’t find the strength to move much.

RED Spy breathes deeply, trying desperately to locate his Firebug, finally reaching the second level of the base just in time to hear the familiar sound of a flamethrower switching on from a few halls over. A glimmer of terror sparks in the Frenchman’s deep brown eyes; while wanting to be happy that Pyro must only be a few yards past the next wall, the fact that the Firebug has his flamethrower on can mean one of two things. One option, the one Spy prays is the truth, is that Pyro is simply Spy-checking the area around him, or the second option would be that the enemy Spy has gotten to him and he’s defending himself. Regardless, Spy begins to sprint down the halls, abandoning all desire to be quiet.  
 _Do not worry mon petit lumière, I am coming and I’ll be there for you._  
Silently Spy realizes he means forever, not just in this moment, and he wants to smile but just cannot seem to. 

The BLU Spy seems satisfied enough and smirks, nudging the weakened and now unconscious fire-user over onto the floor with a simple tap of his shoe. “Well it ‘as been fun.” He smirks and begins to light a cigarette before a noise catches his attention.

“Pyro? Where are you?” He hadn’t meant for that to come out as panicked as it did, and he curses his worry immediately. His pulse is fast and his head is pounding as he rounds a corner to be greeted with the stench of blood and a sight that curdles his own blood and leaves him almost paralyzed. “Non…”

The enemy Spy catches sight of his counterpart before he has time to cloak and sighs to himself, putting away his blue-tinted lighter and stowing his cigarette to use at a later date. He watches intently as the RED Spy fights off the initial shock of it all, the BLU also noticing the loaded revolver hanging in his palm. This certainly can’t end well for either of them.

The BLU Spy hastily decides to throw his already bloodied kunai with practiced velocity and precision and watches with a pleased expression as the weapon embeds itself a few inches into the other’s chest; he had been aiming for his head to be honest, but the wound will hurt either way. However, RED Spy seems barely phased, raising his weapon and firing two shots hazily aimed at the other mercenary; one catches his shoulder, but only barely, the other veers off into the wall. 

As the enemy BLU grips his grazed shoulder, Spy springs forward and punches him in the jaw, sending him sprawling backwards. The red-clad Frenchman lurches after and grabs the other halfway to the floor by the collar and yanks him back up to glare at him, having to swallow some rising stomach contents when he notices he’s sloshing around in his Firebug’s blood. Another punch, then another, and another; the BLU’s face cracks and bleeds under the onslaught, his hands doing little but clawing at Spy’s arms, tearing a slip of fabric and cutting into his skin just a bit. 

A rush of adrenaline gives RED Spy the strength to hurl the enemy saboteur across the walkway and into the opposite wall, he hits the hard surface with a sick crack, likely breaking a rib or two, before falling to the floor and lying still. Spy steps up and inspects the body by nudging it with his shoe; a sickening feeling rushes through him as the body disintegrates as soon as it is touched. He doesn’t have time to turn around as the enemy spy grabs him by the shoulder and plunges a butterfly knife into his side, missing the kill-shot to the spinal cord due to a slight concussion and black eye swelling the left side of his face.

RED Spy groans, inhaling sharply but having enough energy to reach down and yank the knife from his side and turn it on its owner, slicing a nice gash along the BLU’s face. “Heh,” The enemy spy chuckles, spitting out a mix of saliva and blood as he cradles his aching ribs, keeled over in pain. “Forgot about my excellent use of ‘ze Dead Ringer didn’t you?” His voice is so broken and strained that his accent, very similar to Spy’s own, is barely acknowledgeable. 

Spy presses into his side with a hand, his glove getting soaked with his own blood, “As long as you die I ‘ave no need to worry about your skill any longer.” What was intended to sound sassy but intimidating and forceful, finds its way out as a weak threat and a sputter of blood. The BLU Spy smirks through the pain in his face and throws himself forward again, pulling another obscure weapon from his arsenal in the form of an antique .22 caliber pocket gun with a fixed blade at the front to disguise the barrel. He jabs the small knife into his counterpart’s middle once then pulls it back to fire a couple small bullets at almost point-blank range; the velocity of a gun smaller than your palm is not enough to pierce bone or even go through the body far enough to puncture anything vitally important, but it hurts like a bitch. 

Disorientated and injured, RED Spy puts a hand on the wall; he realizes it would be so easy to give up, to let that old familiar sense of nothingness take over his body and just numb every one of his senses. The darkness beckons him with comfortable, welcoming vapors and a promise of well-earned rest, and his mind begins to fade as the barrel of a larger gun is felt against his temple.

But there is something else, there in the darkness; a faint light that piques Spy’s curiosity for a moment as his eyes scan it with awaiting interest. A picture washes over his field of vision; him and the rest of the team…all of them happy. No not battle-happy, but genuine smiles on everyone’s faces as a Thanksgiving dinner is devoured; this isn’t an image, but a memory of a not-so-distant past when Engineer and Demo put their cooking skills to the test. At the time it hadn’t mattered that about half the team wasn’t American, but the prospect of a big meal quelled anyone’s questionable standpoint. Spy smiles when he sees his Firebug at his side, throwing him a few signs of something they had been talking about. He leans down to place a quick kiss on the Pyro’s goggle, his grin widening at the little flinch it brings about from the other; and it’s then the memory fades away and a new kind of adrenaline courses through him like a much-needed painkiller. 

The aspect of death is welcoming, and almost appealing, but with his feet in a puddle of Pyro’s blood, Spy knows then he can’t let this bastard win; death has nothing on his Firebug. There’s the click of a revolver being cocked right next to his head and he remembers the cool metal being pressed into his temple. RED Spy doesn’t think, he grabs the thin barrel of the gun and pushes it up, only vaguely registering the misfire of the gun towards the ceiling. The enemy BLU’s face contorts to one of surprise as he is thrown back again, stumbling over his own feet as the gun is yanked from his grasp. A punch flies forward into his already mutilated face, disorientating him even further and ruining his vision for a full 3 seconds. Once said sight returns he finds himself starring down the barrel of the very same gun he was just holding, he swallows the lump in his throat and grinds his teeth, the ones not broken, and lets out a shaky breath. 

His mouth twists up into a sick smirk and he manages to swipe the RED’s feet out from under him, causing him to land in the growing puddle of blood, further reddening an already red suit. The gun slides from Spy’s grasp and out of the way, he groans as he uses what limited strength he has to push himself back up onto his knees, only to be kicked in the jaw and sent sprawling backwards across the floor. The BLU jumps over the RED and they go at it with fists flying and blood flowing.

Pyro stirs into consciousness after what seems like only a few moments to the fire-wielder; a sick feeling tears through his system, pulling uncomfortably at every one of his muscles. There’s a ringing in his ears, and blood collecting in the large chem’ suit, and it hurts everywhere. The Firebug breathes out shakily through the vent of his optical mask, pushing a small gush of blood past his lips and through the spaces in the vent. A sudden awareness forces an aching Pyro to shift just enough to look down and see the deep, and painful, stab wound decorating his midsection. When the Firebug’s body finally registers the pain, it hits him like a brick wall as his body contracts agonizingly, more blood leaking out with the slightest twitch. 

_Fuck…_

Another thing catches Pyro’s attention and is just interesting enough to force his head up to notice both sets of Spy’s duking it out just a few feet away. The BLU Spy, the enemy, plants his feet on the ground and snatches his counterpart by the collar, pulling him up to stare him down. “Hm you are pathetic,”

_N-no he’s…not…_

Pyro struggles to get his hands underneath him to push up.

A scuffed revolver is cocked and aimed at the center of Spy’s forehead.

The Firebug rips off his optical mask, a collection of velvet blood pouring out of the mask as he drops it somewhere out of sight and reaches for the shotgun at his side.

The enemy BLU smirks and steadies his elbow, “Any last words _mon ami_?”

With a loaded shotgun placed only inches from the back of the enemy’s head, Pyro clears his throat to gain his attention. The Spy turns his head sharply, his aim of the revolver falling as his eyes meet the double-barrels aimed at him. He fires a final shot, successfully lodging a bullet in RED Spy’s shoulder, pulling a shout of pain from the other Frenchman. 

Without another moment’s hesitation, a single shot ends the confrontation, and all future problems with the BLU Spy. 

Pyro sighs as the enemy hits the floor, most assuredly dead. He steps forward to aid the Spy still alive, bleeding profusely, but alive; but something stops his pace and forces his aching body to the floor. The ground is rushing up to meet him before the world goes dark once again.

_That was for you, you asshole._

Spy panics, trying to push forward fast enough to catch Pyro as he falls, almost lifelessly to the ground, but cannot react quickly enough. His vision blurs and entire body pounding with the desire for sleep, maybe even death. But Pyro is alive, regardless of how barely so, and there is a renewed hope that pushes through his veins. And with the knowledge of the Firebug being alright, Spy closes his eyes and accepts what is assuredly his final trial with death; his body connects with the floor, only partially softened by and arm underneath his torso. His other hand languidly slides through the blood and bile on the ground to clasp Pyro’s own hand tightly.

He smiles weakly, remembering that time waking up in the medical bay, wrapped in bandages and hooked up to obscure machines of all sorts, he remembers opening his eyes to feel his hand wrapped in a caring grasp that only tightened once he opened his eyes. His Firebug had sat for hours, waiting for Spy to be alright, sat by his side in Medic’s place to watch him. Every moment spent with the Firebug pulses through Spy’s mind as a bittersweet reminder of the reason he is dying, who he is dying for; even back when they used to bicker, when Spy used to complain about Pyro not talking to him and purposely avoiding conversation, before he knew the fire-user could not speak. Those times he recalls most vividly, and could never apologize enough for. 

Each and every moment, like the ending of a long movie you truly don’t want to end; but once the credits start rolling you don’t exactly regret the time you spent in the cinema and you tell yourself just what a wonderful film it was.

Spy lets out a shaky breathe, near to beaming when he feels a shift in Pyro’s position and he instinctively holds onto the saboteur’s hand; Pyro is okay. And with the approaching sound of overused leather books, belonging to the RED Sniper, Spy finds some peace within him, something he hasn’t had for a long, long time. His eyes close and a haze of white covers his vision, the last thing he sees in the Firebug’s almost peaceful-looking features before the world goes dark. _I will miss you… Vous êtes…la lumière de ma vie._

.5.  
\----+----

It hurts when he awakes, which displeases him; he had assumed the afterlife would be painless. However, Spy understands there is no forgiving the things he has done, and there should be no joy awaiting his life after death; he deserves no more than everlasting pain and suffering. There is comfort though…a soft feeling hugs his aching body and familiar smells and voices echo in the vast whiteness. The pain is nothing compared to the unmatched agony of the moments before his death, and he hears a soft laugh, one he recognizes as the little-heard jubilance of a certain German doctor.

_…...Medic…?_

There is a smell, the scent of ash and rubber wafting up into his nostrils.

_…….Pyro…..?_

A nagging fear that Pyro passed on with him paralyzes him and gives him the determination to squint through the whiteness in hopes of finding any inkling of a clue. 

Wait that can’t be right; Pyro would never be in the same afterlife as Spy, it must be some desperate premonition to hold onto something he once had. 

But there’s another chuckle, this time a lower, throaty voice that weighs over the other one.

_…..Heavy….?_

Before Spy can think of a better explanation the fields of white slowly dissipate, and he is now more aware of the soreness of his body and the soft yellow light he is surrounded in; a familiar light that once held comfort. Finally his eyes open, large brown orbs encircling a dilating pupil; the first thing he registers is the ceiling. 

Yes he’s looking up… no, he’s lying down, on his back and his face is looking towards the ceiling. The voices…there are shapes to match the voices, and soon enough there are faces and detailed features on each one. Heavy stands by Medic, both standing in front of a bed, in front of another person. Soon the smaller figure, sitting on the corresponding bed cross-legged gets features as well; the flippant, auburn hair comes into focus and the terrible deep-tissue scarring on the otherwise pale face is clear. 

“Pyro…” Spy hadn’t realized he said something until all three heads turn towards him, Heavy and Pyro smiling brightly, Medic seeming happy enough. The German can’t move fast enough to keep the Firebug in place as he jumps off his berth and onto Spy’s, throwing all caution to the wind and wrapping his arms around the saboteur, minding the plethora of injuries.

_Dammit you fucking bastard, I thought you weren’t going to get up! Fuck you; I hate you so fucking much! Don’t you ever do that to me again you goddamn asshole!_

If the Firebug could talk, even Demoman would scold his foul mouth. But it doesn’t matter, and Spy is still alive and in his arms and the fire-user doesn’t plan on letting go. It sounds incredibly cliché, Pyro knows, but it cannot be any truer. “ _Mon lumière, ne t'inquiète pas_ …do not worry.” Spy forces out in a whisper, his voice shaky and coarse. He grips the back of Pyro’s head and holds him with the other arm, his fingers burrowing into Pyro’s short, somewhat curly hair. “I’m sorry…Pyro, I…only want to,” His chest pangs with a sense of guilt, or it could be the kunai-wound, he cannot quite tell. “To protect you…I never meant a word of it.” Somehow he pulls the Firebug against him even closer, before he wiggles back a bit to look Spy in the eye. 

Those brilliant orange and red irises frame wide pupils well as they lock onto Spy’s for the first time in over a month. Spy smiles, having missed such a sight, until those same eyes he admires so much dart elsewhere for a moment. Pyro holds his hands up in the air, fluttering his fingers as he moves his hands down and side to side.

_‘Snow.’_

A smile stays planted on the faces of all who are present as Pyro scoots over to the window and grips the window sill. Heavy looks confused, “Where I come from, snows all the time. Why is leetle Firebug so excited?” Medic nudges him with his elbow; however Pyro doesn’t seem to acknowledge anyone else in the room, save for Spy as he reaches down and grips the saboteur’s hand in reassurance that he is still there. A small chuckle breaks the silence and the Frenchman look to his hulking Russian compatriot. 

“Pyro ‘as never seen snow, he ‘as always hoped it would snow while we are here in Viaduct, but it never ‘as…until now.” Spy explains with an adoring smile. Heavy seems satisfied with that answer, but has a hard time understanding how someone could not see snow before; to him snow was always everywhere. After the initial surprise of seeing the falling whiteness, the fire-wielder turns back towards his older teammates with a big grin. “Is it what you thought it was?” Spy asks, pulling the younger mercenary to sit on the edge of his bed.

Medic chuckles again, “Later after I have stitched your wounds you can go outside, Scout has been asking for you Pyro, wants to have a…vhat vas it? A snowball fight?” Seeing the eager excitement cross the Firebug’s face, the German raises a hand, “Only after you are better, _ordnung_?” He turns his back and crosses the room to begin straightening out his supplies, Heavy following suit after a small wave. 

“Pyro…” Spy beckons and the Firebug turns towards him with a small smile. He deftly raises his hand to push back strands of auburn hair from the other’s face, “ _Vous êtes la lumière de ma vie._ ” Leaning forward, Spy placing a quick, loving kiss on the Pyro’s partially burned lips. Pyro recoils slightly, the uninjured side of his face flushing red, but he smiles brightly in return. _What a contagious smile you have, mon lumière._ Spy chuckles, ruffling that wild hair playfully, “Don’t you forget that _mon petit_ Firebug.” His smile grows and he raises his hand, holding up his thumb, index, and pinkie fingers at the same time, keeping the other two down. 

_‘I love you.’_

_You stupid, sentimental fuck._

Pyro rolls his eyes and forces his sore body forward to latch onto Spy’s shoulders and pull the taller man into a real kiss; he pulls away and can’t keep in an almost inaudible laugh seeing Spy’s flushed, befuddled face. He raises his own hand, lifting the same fingers as Spy had before, then pointing at the saboteur and holding his thumb and pinkie finger out down by his middle and moving his hand back and forth.

_‘I love you too.’_

Later that day Pyro would indeed get his chance to go experience snow for the first time, and find out from Scout how to make a perfect snowball. The two would call for Heavy and together the three would make a snowman taller than the Russian himself, Scout and Pyro getting to enjoy being the youngest on the team for once, and Heavy happy to oblige in the roll of the most childish grown man. Spy would learn just how both he and Pyro ended up alive. About how Sniper found them, and somehow mustered some superhuman strength to get them both upstairs to Medic, especially considering the Australians scrawny physique. 

Turns out Medic spent hours keeping them both alive, his Medigun was sucked dry, so much the German had to hand it over to Engineer to get him to turn the machine back on because it had just given up. Engineer, by the way, had had a small panic attack after seeing them so injured, but otherwise kept his cool and helped in any way he could. Spy found himself in awe when he heard it all, having a hard time grasping the knowledge, especially how on earth he survived. 

And learning that he actually did die makes Spy recoil; according to Medic, he was officially dead for three minutes and his heart wouldn’t beat, his lungs filling with blood and making it impossible for his body to cycle the oxygen. The Frenchman counts himself lucky beyond belief. 

He looks out the window nearby, taking notice of Pyro trying to push a ball of snow about half his size across the field to where Scout was lobbing snowballs at Heavy. His optical mask had been replaced long before he even left the medical wing, but Spy can almost see the smile behind the vent. “Thanks fer’ takin’ care of ‘im Spy,” A Texan drawl breaks his concentration on the younger teammates outside. Engineer stands beside him, looking out the window as well with a content smile. “Our Firebug may not be around if it wasn’t fer’ you.” A gloved hand knocks Spy in the shoulder good naturedly. 

“And I may not be around if it wasn’t for him.” He looks down to the Texan and chuckles, blowing a bit of smoke past his lips. Offhandedly he notices Demoman stroll up to the door of the base, leading out to where Heavy, Scout, and Pyro are. A stray snowball flies from within the group, hitting the Scott square in the face and knocking the bottle of scrumpy away from his mouth and onto the ground.

“’Ey you lookin’ for’a fight are ye’ laddie!” Demo jumps off the porch area and grabs a handful of snow, forming it into a tightly packed ball before lobbing it at Scout, but hitting Heavy. 

The Bostonian laughs and starts running, “C’mon no face!” He yells, grabbing Pyro and dragging him along too.

“Aye, get back here ye’ sorry sons’a goat lovers!” The Scottsman chases after the two younger teammates, Heavy standing by laughing heartily. 

It almost doesn’t feel like things had gone to shit just a day ago, that Spy and Pyro were a gunshot away from death; and it almost didn’t feel like Spy had accepted his fate and said his final goodbye to his Firebug. Spy is happy, watching Pyro being happy; it somehow makes up for what happened, makes everything better once he got to see that bright smile the moment he woke up. 

He hadn’t expected to wake up, and that made everything that much better, and that made everything alright.

 _.Epilogue._  
\----+---- 

_I was ridiculed at first. Laughed at by the entire team I was supposed to be close to, and I fucking hated it. There was one in particular who seemed to hate me more than anyone else. He would scold me every day for the most trivial things, would push me whenever we passed; he was a douchebag every waking hour._

_No one seemed to realize I’m fucking mute and I couldn’t fucking talk to anyone. The Medic seemed more intrigued by me than anything, and that was weird._

_Coming onto this damn team all those years ago was the strangest phenomenon._

_Everywhere else I had gone was always, ‘What’s wrong?’ or ‘Why can’t you talk?’ But not here. Here no one really gave a shit and they got used to it. No one seemed to care I had had a terrible accident and my cerebral cortex got fucked up. No one seemed to care that the reason I can’t talk is because the damage to the Broca Area of my cortex was too severe for any doctors to fix. I had goddamn inner brain trauma which took away my ability to speak at the age of 14, and everyone on the base ridiculed me._

_It was shitty for months, until that one who seemed to hate me more than anyone else did, responded to me when I signed something at him. He hadn’t done that before, meaning he had learned. He began to talk to me in sign language, I could finally fucking talk to someone, and after a while I told him why I was so screwed up. He apologized for everything he’d done or said, and word got around and soon I got apologies from everyone. Medic was more than interested then and wouldn’t stop asking me questions._

_My experience at RED became a pretty good one, people warmed up to me, once I got Spy to translate my ASL to them. Surprisingly I grew closer to Spy than I ever imagined; he became my closest friend, and I his._

_Being on this team, now anyway, is probably the best thing that has ever happened to me. While I only wish I could hold conversation with these people, talk to them without them giving me a weird look because the only people who know sign language are the mute, deaf, and the translators. Spy knew it though, Spy had taken time to learn it, and because of that we grew inseparable. Because of that, me, a masked pyromaniac, came to love a stupid French idiot who can’t take care of himself, and shit works out…most of the time._


End file.
